Monster
by notyourbro
Summary: Josh thought he knew everything about Mount Washington. But when he and Hannah fall into the mines after the prank and Josh is the one to survive, he realizes there's much to be discovered.
1. Chapter 1

Josh had been doing pretty well, until the goddamn monster showed up.

He'd allowed Beth to wake him from his drunken slumber, given Mike an appropriately threatening speech, and talked Hannah out of her tears. He'd had to sacrifice his sweater to keep her warm and now he was freezing, but she was happier, and that was what mattered.

They were on their way back to the lodge, Josh animatedly discussing various ways to punish Mike, when a screech echoed through the woods around them. Josh ignored it; he'd heard that earlier, when he was tracking Hannah's footprints, and brushed it off as a particularly frightening auditory hallucination.

Apparently, it was not.

"What was that?" Hannah asked. She turned around in a circle, peering through the snow, and found nothing.

"You mean you heard it too?"

She stopped surveying the woods and looked at Josh now, her brow furrowed in confusion. "What? Of course I—" Realization dawned, and her voice softened. "Yeah, I did."

Well, shit. Josh knew a lot about Mount Washington—probably more than anyone else in his family—but clearly there was something he missed. Something that sounded dangerous.

"Hey," he said, trying to keep his tone light, "why don't we race back to the lodge? I bet I can kick your—"

Something slithered and crunched nearby, and Josh's words trailed off as a creature emerged from the trees. Its pale skin glowed bright against in the darkness, and it crouched on four long, spindly limbs, cocking its head almost curiously to the side.

Okay, creature wasn't the right word. That was no _creature_ Josh had ever seen. That was a monster.

Hannah moved then—nothing more than the brush of her fingers against Josh's ice-cold skin, but the monster's head snapped in their direction like she'd set off an alarm. It leapt toward them with wild speed and another inhuman scream, and Hannah was off like a shot.

Josh remained frozen until he realized she was headed straight for the cliff. Jesus _fuck_. He'd nearly fallen off it seven years ago, back when the mountain was new and ripe for exploration, and now he knew better. But Hannah didn't. She had no idea where it was.

"Hannah!" Josh shouted, finally turning on his heel and taking off after her. He could hear the monster behind him—gaining, and gaining fast—but he pumped harder, the cold air setting his lungs on fire.

He ran until she was in his sights again, and when he screamed for her to stop, she listened, skidding to a halt just a few feet from the drop-off. She whirled around, wide eyes immediately landing on the thing behind him. She held out her hand.

Josh grabbed it and they faced the monster together, cornered like prey and paralyzed by fear. It lumbered toward them on two legs now, almost slowly, and through the terror coursing through his veins, Josh realized something. He looked at its milky-white saucer eyes, and the way it was moving its head, and something clicked.

"Hannah," he whispered. "Hannah, whatever you do, don't—"

That was when she slipped.

It happened so fast that Josh's brain didn't process anything until he was hanging from a jagged rock, his scraped palm throbbing. Hannah hung beneath him, gripping tightly to his arm.

"Holy shit!" he screamed, and his voice sounded strange, like it was coming from someone else. "Oh, fuck!"

To make things even more surreal, a masked figure appeared over the ledge. Josh flinched instinctively, wishing he could retreat somewhere, but the only way out was down.

Then the figure did something unexpected: It reached out a hand, and Josh stared at it in confusion. What the fuck was going on in Blackwood Pines?

Josh didn't have time to ask. Hannah slipped further down his arm with a whimper, and his other arm was starting to shake violently with the effort of holding them up. Her voice managed to reach him through a haze of pain and fear.

"Let me go," she begged. "Josh, please."

"Are you kidding?" he growled. "No."

The masked figure held his hand closer, and Josh pointedly ignored it.

" _Josh_ —" Hannah started.

And that's when he lost his grip.

* * *

The first thing on Chris' mind when he woke up was Josh. He was drunk, but he'd have to be completely shitfaced not to remember the way Josh had kissed him earlier that night, his fingers threading through the hair at the nape of Chris' neck. They'd been together long enough that maybe kisses shouldn't have affected him like that, but God, they did. They always did.

Chris lifted his head from the counter and rubbed the sore spot on his forehead, frowning when he saw that Josh was no longer across from him.

"Josh?" he called groggily. He glanced around the empty kitchen before pulling himself heavily to his feet and peeking into the surrounding rooms—also empty. "Uh, anybody?" he amended.

A chill blew in from his left, and Chris turned to see that the door leading outside was open. That was weird. He could feel his anxiety kicking into high gear already, and he was tempted to grab the empty wine bottle on the counter and arm himself.

He refrained, instead sauntering toward the door with as much confidence as he could muster. "Alright, who's making snow angels out there?" he called.

"Chris!" Beth's voice was oddly high-pitched, and Chris had barely reached the threshold of the door when she barreled into him, wrapping her arms around his midsection. "Chris, I don't know to do—Josh and Hannah— "

"Whoa, slow down," Chris said. He looked down at Beth's worried face, and something like dread started to pool thick and heavy in his gut. Beth was always calm and collected. The only times he'd ever seen her lose it were when Josh—

Well, now wasn't the time to be thinking about that. But Chris' experiences with Josh had made him pretty skilled in talking people down. He lowered his voice until it was gentle and soft, and his hands squeezed Beth's shoulders encouragingly.

"Tell me what happened," he said. "Go slow."

Beth took a deep breath, and everything came pouring out. By the time she finished, Chris wished he could keep himself calm as well as he did others.

"Shit. Okay. Uh." He looked at the snow swirling in the darkness outside, then at Beth's pleading expression, and blurted the first solution that came to his mind. "I'm going after them."

He darted around Beth and into the cold, where Sam promptly blocked his path. She raised her hands like she was trying to calm a dangerous animal.

"Chris," she said, "I know you want to go find them, but I just want to tell you that's a really stupid idea."

Chris scoffed and scrambled for a snarky response. "Yeah," he said, "says who?"

Comebacks had never been his strong suit.

"Think about it," Sam implored. "Josh knows this mountain better than anyone. If anyone can find Hannah and bring her back, it's him. Sending more people out there with no sense of direction—and no cell reception—is asking for trouble."

Damn. She was right, and they both knew it, but he didn't want to go down so easily.

"That's my boyfriend out there," he argued. A weak protest, but it was his only remaining defense.

Sam looked at him sympathetically. "And that's _my_ best friend."

They held each other's gaze for a moment before Chris kicked his heel stubbornly into the snow. "Fine," he huffed. He'd never say it out loud, but Chris knew he wouldn't last a minute before finding the nearest rock to trip over and spraining his ankle—even if he was sober. And then Josh would have to come rescue _him_ too.

Sam nodded and looked around at the group. "If…" she started, "and I mean _if_ they don't come back soon…we should probably think about calling the cops."

Nearly everyone started protesting, but Emily was the loudest.

"Are you kidding me?" she shouted. "And you think going into the woods is asking for trouble!"

"Em is right," Mike added. "All of us unsupervised, shitloads of alcohol, and Chris drunk off his ass? Come on."

"No, _you_ come on, Mike," Sam snapped. "You knew how she felt about you, and you did it anyway. I don't care whose idea it was—it couldn't have happened without your participation. So take some fucking responsibility."

Mike fell back, speechless. Near Chris, Ashley wrapped her arms around herself and stared into the forest with frightened eyes. "If they're really lost out there…" she mumbled.

"Josh wouldn't get lost," Chris said, with more than a little edge in his voice. Ashley shrunk away from him, looking even more scared, and he immediately regretted his response. "He just—he wouldn't, okay?" Chris caught another flash of sympathy in Sam's eyes, and he turned away from the group, hoping his voice didn't betray the emotion that must've been written all over his face. His eyes swept over the surrounding woods, and he nearly prayed to a deity he didn't believe in to let them come back. _Please, fuck, let them come back_.

He kept his gaze fixed on the trail like that might actually work. When his half-assed prayers weren't answered, Chris huffed another sigh, fighting against the panic that was starting to bloom in his chest.

"Let's just go inside and see what happens."

* * *

This is what happened: Josh and Hannah didn't come back. They called the cops. The police office took one tired look at them and subjected them all to a Breathalyzer test—which they all failed, rather spectacularly—and Chris thanked fuck for the Canadian drinking age. The last thing the Washingtons needed on top of two missing children was multiple charges for supplying alcohol to minors.

The police insisted that they couldn't file missing persons' reports so soon, but Sam argued with them until they agreed to send out a search party. Something about snow and darkness and dangerous conditions… Chris couldn't really focus on what she was saying, but she sounded convincing.

The search party didn't find them. Not that night, or the next day, or the day after that. It had snowed so thickly that there weren't any footprints by the time they started looking, so the problem wasn't that the trail ran cold; it was that there was no trail to begin with.

Chris flew home next to an empty seat while Bob Washington held a press conference, tearfully pleading for anyone with information about Josh and Hannah's whereabouts to please step forward. It was a shot in the dark, of course, because it was the Washington's mountain, and Bob had a minor reputation for suing trespassers into the next dimension, but it was worth a try. Having Josh and Hannah home safely, he insisted, was all that mattered to him.

For once, he and Chris were on the same page.

* * *

When Josh woke up, everything hurt. For a long, almost blissful moment the pain was enough to block his memories, but then it wasn't, and he remembered.

"Hannah." His voice was rough and cracked, and when his eyes fluttered open, he saw nothing but rock, towering above him into oblivion. He turned his head to the side and saw Hannah lying on her back next to him, facing away. He croaked her name again, louder this time.

When she didn't respond, Josh started a slow roll onto his stomach, yelping in pain when his weight landed on his arm—which, now that he looked at it, didn't look exactly like a functioning arm should.

The sight made his head spin, and he breathed deeply through the lightheaded feeling. "Okay," he murmured to himself. "Your arm's broken. It's fine. You're fine. Just…roll the other way."

He followed his own instructions, turning onto his stomach from the other direction and achingly pulling himself to his knees. Braced against the ground with his good arm, he noticed that the nails on three of his fingers were torn off. Tracks of dried blood ran down to his wrist.

"Shit, that's gross," he hissed. The sight of dried blood also made him wonder how long he'd been out, and when he looked upward for confirmation, he saw pale winter light. The ledge was there, but it was far—far and steep. There was no way he could climb it, even if both of his arms were working.

Right this second, though, that didn't really matter. What mattered was Hannah. He crawled around to the other side of her body, whispering her name like a mantra that cut off into a choked sound the second he saw her face. Slack-jawed and lifeless, she stared into the space around Josh's knees with wide, unseeing eyes.

"No," he blurted, his voice thick and garbled. "Fucking no. This is _not_ happening."

He reached with his working arm and pressed his fingers to the side of her neck. He flinched at how cold her skin was, but he kept his hand where it was, determined feel some sign of life beat back against his fingertips. When nothing happened, he checked the other side of her neck, her wrists, and her chest; finally, he lowered himself to his side and listened for a breath, the shell of his ear almost brushing against her frigid lips.

He didn't hear anything.

"Hannah," Josh whispered, this time like a plea. He pulled back to look at her face and gently straightened her broken glasses. "Hannah, please. Please wake up. I can't—"

Something inside him cracked just then, and Josh lost himself. Curled next to his sister's corpse, he cried into the ground until his eyes burned. It was a long time before he regained some semblance of composure, and when he did, he met Hannah's unwavering gaze.

"I'm going to get us the fuck out of here, okay?" he said. "I am not leaving you."

Josh sealed the promise with a kiss to her forehead, hauled himself to his feet, and started looking for another way out.

* * *

 **Thursday, Feb. 6, 11:42 p.m.**

hey

i know this is…stupid

its not like you can read this, and tbh if you come back i dont think i want you to

and yes, i KNOW you hate facebook, but the police have confiscated your phone, so…

hey

speaking of fb, everyone's been leaving ridiculous messages on your wall. your dad went on tv, so now the whole world knows, and anybody who's so much as looked at you is writing about how much they miss you and hope you come home soon

that probably shouldn't make me angry, but it does

i feel like you would get that

anyway…i do miss you

and i hope you come soon

bye

* * *

The mines were endless. At least, that's how they felt. On top of that, Josh's watch was shattered, _and_ he'd left his phone on the kitchen counter like a complete dumbass. He'd found Hannah's phone after working up the courage to fish through her pockets, but it was broken—a problem he'd only exacerbated by throwing it against the rock wall in a fit of anger.

If he was stuck down here, he'd at least like to know what goddamn time it was.

Instead, he obeyed his body clock to the best of his ability and spent the first few days doing nothing but exploring. Years of roaming the mountain and countless hours of video games had actually come in handy, and his sense of direction was better than average, but this place was a fucking maze. Every day he branched off in different directions, leaving a trail of rocks to guide his way back, and every day he hit dead end after dead end.

After a few days of no rescue, no food, and no progress, Josh realized he needed to stop looking for a way out and start focusing on survival.

But first, he had another problem to take care of: Hannah.

Every night he came back to her, and every night she looked and smelled worse. He'd pushed the idea out of his mind for as long as possible, but when he stumbled across a shovel during one of his wanderings, it was practically a neon sign: _Bury her already, jackass._

So he did. The digging took hours, and it was exhausting. Josh stayed up well past the point when his body told him to go to sleep, breathing heavy in the cold, stale air as the hole grew deeper and deeper.

He forced himself to stop when black spots started to creep into his vision, and he knew he couldn't stay conscious much longer. This shouldn't have been that hard, but after no food or water… His stomach grumbled on cue and he ignored it, dropping the shovel to the ground and dragging Hannah toward the hole.

Her foot had just started to dip over the edge when Josh realized that she was still wearing his sweater. And the mines were very cold. _God damn it_.

He tugged lightly on Hannah's sleeve, pulling it toward him, and he was surprised at how easily her limbs moved. He raised both of her arms before carefully sliding the sweater off her head, knocking her glasses askew in the process.

"Sorry," he said, meaning it for the glasses, but then thinking about the sweater and the monster and everything else that had led them to this point. Josh dropped to his knees and buried his face in his sore, dirty hand. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

He lowered Hannah carefully into the makeshift grave and fixed her glasses one last time, apologizing with nearly every shovelful of dirt he tossed onto her body. By the time he was done, he was so tired that he collapsed right there on the mound of dirt, curled up like a cat, head resting on a stolen sweater.

* * *

 **Friday, Feb. 7, 5:13 p.m.**

hey (again)

sorry i'm being clingy af, but i just had a major panic attack in the middle of my chem lab and idk what to do

you're the one who always talks me down

my mom said i could take the rest of the semester off but idk

i think that i need the distractions maybe

idk

today i nearly got rammed by a biker bc i was looking at my phone and i almost called to tell you the dramatic story of my near-death

every time my phone buzzes i think its you

like this is one of your dumb schemes and you're just going to pop up out of the blue

"surprise!"

did you just want to see how much i need you or something?

is that what this is?

bc it worked!

i need you a lot!

you can come out now!

[insert obligatory gay joke here]

alright?

bye

* * *

Josh had only one thing on his mind when he woke up: water. He'd found some on his first day, but the thought of drinking from that murky, likely disease-ridden water was repulsive to say the least, and he hadn't been _that_ desperate.

Now he was. Between the exertion and the crying and the fact that it had been days since he'd last had something to drink, he couldn't wait any longer.

He pulled on the sweater and stumbled off Hannah's grave, dropping rocks almost lazily behind him. He found the appropriate cavern and knelt down at the ledge. As if drinking from this shit wasn't bad enough, Josh had nothing to hold water and a useless arm. Cupping his hands together wasn't really an option. He'd have to go face-first.

He lowered himself onto his stomach and pushed himself until he was partway over the edge. He hovered for a moment, lips just inches above the dark surface, and tried not to think about what might be lurking in those depths. Instead he closed his eyes, took a few steady breaths, and plunged his face into the water.

It tasted terrible, but it felt cool against his dry, parched throat, and Josh sucked in as many mouthfuls as he could manage. When his thirst was at least somewhat relieved, he pulled himself back from the edge and lay back on the hard ground. He stared at the high ceiling, listening to the sounds of his stomach gurgle as it tried to keep the water down.

That had taken so little effort, but already he was tired. He wondered idly what his friends and family were doing, wondered what they would think if they knew he'd seen a monster and fallen off a cliff and buried his sister.

 _A monster, Josh?_ his mother asked. _Are you sure?_

 _How do we know this isn't another one of your stories, hmm?_ His dad this time.

 _It's real!_ Josh squeaked. He was tiny, just a kid. _I promise! Hannah saw it too!_

His mom looked at him skeptically. _Why doesn't Hannah tell us what she saw?_

 _Because she's dead!_

His parents threw their heads back in laughter, and his mom reached toward him to pinch his cheeks. _Oh, Josh. Such an imagination._

 _You'll make a great writer one day, kid_ , his dad agreed, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.

 _I'm serious!_ Josh insisted, and his breath caught in his throat as a hand wrapped around each of his parent's throats—the monster's hands, long spindly fingers with sharp nails that dug into soft skin. A few drops of blood trickled from the puncture wounds on his parents' necks, but they didn't seem to notice. _It's right behind you!_ he screamed, frantic now. _Turn around!_

His parents laughed louder, so loud that Josh had to cover his ears. He watched as the disembodied hands crawled up his parents' faces, brushing almost gently over their features. The claws settled on top of his parents' heads, nails piercing new wounds. Rivulets of blood trailed down his parents' cheeks, into their open mouths. The hands twisted then, hard and fast, and Josh saw his parents' necks snap with simultaneous cracks.

They were still laughing.

Josh woke with a start, gasping and sweating on the hard ground. He hoisted himself into a sitting position, and his stomach clenched painfully. He managed a garbled "fuck" before he was throwing up. It was mostly liquid—there wasn't enough food in his system for anything more substantial—but it burned in his mouth nonetheless, leaving an acrid taste on his tongue. By the time he finished heaving, he was pretty sure he'd kill someone for a toothbrush.

He waited until his stomach settled before trying to stand. Standing was hard. Josh's head swam, and for a second he thought he was going to fall and break his other arm, but then his head cleared a little. He shook it off.

"Okay," he rasped. "You're okay. Not dead yet, Washington."

He spared a glance at the water, stomach muscles tightening at the mere thought of having to drink it again. "Hey," he said to himself. "Hey, hey, hey. It's not so bad. Maybe it's like, an acquired taste, you know? Like fancy wine. You like fancy wine, Joshy."

He started making his way back to Hannah, and he had just turned down the hall that led to her when he saw it. The monster. Perched on top of Hannah's grave with its back to Josh, pawing through the dirt and chittering like it had found buried treasure.

Josh could feel himself boiling with rage. This was the root of his problems, the source of his misery. This was the thing to blame, for everything. It had sent Hannah tumbling to her death, sent Josh to this labyrinth, and now it was—what, exactly? Digging up his sister's corpse to hang it up in its lair like a fucking trophy?

"Oh, no," Josh whispered. "No, no, no. Over my dead body, motherfucker."

He glanced around for something, anything, and his eyes landed on a rock from his breadcrumb trail. Perfectly sized for a monster head. _Bingo._ He sunk slowly to the ground, praying his knees wouldn't crack, and grabbed the rock. Clenching it tightly in his fist, he crept toward the opening of another room and crouched behind a small rock wall. Then he thanked God for not breaking his throwing arm, kissed the rock, and flung it straight at the monster's head.

If Josh ever made it out of this hell-hole alive, he made a mental note to thank his parents for years of mandatory Little League. His target hit the mark, slamming into the back of the monster's bald little head, and Josh had to try _very_ hard not to yell in triumph. The monster screeched wildly, one clawed hand coming up to rub the point of impact, and then it whirled around in search of the culprit.

Of all the reckless shit Josh had done in his short time on earth, this definitely topped the list. He had, in reality, _no_ idea whether this thing was actually blind or just looked blind, _no_ idea whether it was indeed movement that it sensed—and this was, by anyone's standards, the worst way to test that theory. Josh's eyes were still poking out above the low rock wall, and if this thing could see literally _anything_ , it was going to be on him before he could blink.

But it wasn't. In fact, it did the same thing it had done on the cliff: curious head-cocking, its eyes sweeping blindly over Josh's exposed head. It clicked and purred and then let out another screech before leaping off Hannah's grave.

 _Holy shit, this thing can move._ Josh had been too busy running for his life on the cliff to see just how fast it could go, but now he understood. It cleared the distance between them in a few spry jumps, and when it had passed the wall Josh was hiding behind, Josh ducked completely behind it. Out of sight, he reached for two more rocks, checked to make sure them monster still had its back to him, and launched one of them in a high arc. He aimed it to land in front of the monster—to appear, for all intents and purposes, like it had come from above.

He was spot-on again. When the rock clattered in front of the monster, its head jerked up and then back down, and Josh took advantage of that moment to throw his second rock as far along the far wall as he could manage. The monster let out of a wail, leapt onto the wall, and then—Josh had to blink to make sure he wasn't imagining this— _stuck_ to it. Like a crazy, terrifying cat.

 _Holy shitting fuck._

Josh watched in awe as it crawled up, seemingly unaffected by the laws of gravity. It looked back in the direction of Hannah's grave, and for a split second Josh imagined the monster going back for Hannah anyway—slinging her over its shoulder, possibly flipping him off, and then cackle-screeching as it took the only thing that gave Josh any sense of purpose.

Instead, it let out an angry hiss and continued, up and up and up until it was out of Josh's sight.

Josh waited until he couldn't hear the clicking of its claws, and then he waited some more. Finally he took a breath.

"Holy shit," he wheezed. "Holy… I mean. I. The plan was to…to get it into another room, but you know, wall-climbing works too." He let out a hiccupping laugh and clapped a hand over his mouth. "Jesus Christ," he murmured against his fingers.

Josh hauled himself to his feet and tentatively approached the wall it had climbed, half-expecting it to be waiting, hanging upside down like a fucking spider ready to catch its prey. But it wasn't. Josh squinted into the darkness until he was sure—well, as sure as he _could_ be—that he was alone, and then he checked on Hannah.

Her body was undamaged, but the fucker was definitely trying to dig her up, and it'd nearly done it, too. Josh had no idea what it could possibly want with a corpse, but he was determined not to let it have her. If that meant reburying Hannah in a different spot every day, so fucking be it.

Josh was going to protect his sister, or he was going to die trying.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sun., Feb. 9, 1:37 p.m.**

hey

it's been a week now

beth's been calling me a lot, keeping me posted

i guess they have police and a search & rescue team out looking, but

mountain's pretty fucking big

your dad's been out looking for you, too

beth told me he leaves with the search & rescue team at dawn and doesn't come back till dark

he's…really desperate, understandably

he really loves you

i hope you know that

and i…

well

you know

* * *

As it turns out, moving a dead body is hard. Josh never suspected he'd discover that firsthand, especially not in an abandoned mine shaft with a gravity-defying monster after his blood, but you know—live and learn.

Things could've been worse, he supposed. If he weren't smack in the middle of a Canadian winter, Hannah's body probably would have started decomposing in earnest, and God only knew what that would be like to drag around. On the other hand, if it weren't so goddamn cold, the tips of Josh's fingers might not have been turning black. _Guess you can't have everything_.

After the monster had scuttled to the surface, Josh brought Hannah to a cavern he'd only explored in passing and tucked her into a corner, thinking about all the shit he didn't have. Food. Water that didn't make his organs feel like they were twisting. _Any chance of survival_ , his mind supplied unhelpfully.

He propped his sister up against the wall and sat down next to her. She slumped against him—broken backs made it pretty difficult to maintain good posture—and Josh took her hand. Her skin didn't even feel like skin anymore, and the cold air couldn't completely eradicate her smell, but it was…something. If Josh was honest, it was pretty much the only thing.

"Jesus," a voice said softly. "I look like shit, huh?"

Josh flinched, still on edge, and he looked away from Hannah to see—Hannah. Standing across from him in the outfit she died in, looking like she hadn't died at all.

"Fuck," Josh blurted. He blinked a few times and rubbed a hand over his eyes, hoping he could will this away. Maybe will himself away while he was at it. It didn't work; she was still there when he opened his eyes again, peering at the corpse with an almost curious expression. " _Fuck_ ," Josh said again.

Hannah's gaze shifted from the body to him, and her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. "Alright, now you're just being rude. Only I'm allowed to talk about how gross I am." She sat cross-legged on the ground, and Josh instinctively jumped to his feet. His head spun at the sudden movement, and through his dizziness he registered Hannah's body—the actual body—collapsing to the floor with a gentle _fwump_.

"Hey, I didn't mean to—" Hannah was on her feet again, and she reached out a comforting hand. Josh felt the pressure of her fingers through his sweater, and he jerked himself away. Tactile hallucinations were possibly the worst, but this one was touching him in the same spot Hannah had touched him on the cliff—the movement that had caught the monster's attention in the first place—and she was looking at Josh with real, genuine concern.

In short, it was way too much.

"No," Josh protested. He recoiled into the rock wall, closed his eyes, and covered his ears. _See no evil, hear no evil_ —

"Maybe this was a bad time." Hannah's voice reached him, muffled through his hands, and he could hear himself whimpering too—soft, desperate sounds that poured from his mouth without restraint.

Hannah didn't say anything after that, and when Josh finally worked up the courage to open his eyes again, the cavern was empty. Just him and a corpse. He sunk to the floor, not even bothering to reposition Hannah's body, and rocked back and forth in a steady rhythm.

He didn't know if she was still there, but eventually he started talking.

"It should have been me," he said. "If I'd been stronger, I could have pulled us up. If I hadn't been drunk, I could've stopped that stupid prank in the first place. If I weren't so fucked up, I wouldn't need to be drunk to have fun at my own goddamn party. It should have been _me_ who died."

Josh felt a hand on his arm, and this time he didn't pull away. "Don't say that," Hannah said softly.

He considered for a minute. "You're right," he decided. "Maybe this is it. This is my punishment. All those times I could've done better, could've been better. All those 3 a.m. pleas: _Just let me die, please. I'm too scared to do it myself so just do it for me, make it easy_." He let out a watery laugh, surprised when he tasted salty tears on his lips. When had he started crying? "Be careful what you wish for, I guess."

Hannah's grip tightened. "Don't say that either."

Josh still couldn't bring himself to look at her—alive and unbroken, a fate that could've been real if he hadn't been such a screw-up—but her presence was starting to comfort him. Even if he knew it was just a symptom of his withdrawals.

"I don't blame you for any of it, you know," Hannah added. She pinched the fabric of Josh's sleeve and tugged on it gently. "Not even the sweater."

Josh snorted and wiped his nose on his free sleeve. "Thanks," he said. He exhaled a shuddering sigh, and his body creaked like an old machine, finally settling down. "I don't think I can get us out of here, though. I promised you, but I don't think I can."

"It's okay," Hannah said. "We'll stay down here together."

Josh looked down at his sister's corpse, her dirty cheek pressed against the ground, eyes still staring into nothing. He lifted her glasses and closed her eyelids, feeling yet another twinge of guilt for not having done that sooner. "Home sweet home," he murmured.

They sat in silence for a long time. Josh still refused to look at the living Hannah, but he could feel her touch, hear her soft breathing. She sounded unbelievably real, but then again, his hallucinations had never been known to skimp on the details.

Josh didn't particularly want to get up, but after his double dose of sleep and everything that had just happened, he was wired beyond belief. And if the monster had really gone up to the surface, now was probably the best time to keep exploring.

He hauled himself to his feet, taking care to move slowly this time, and finally let his gaze flicker toward Hannah. She was leaning up against the wall, legs stretched out in front of her. She gave Josh a warm smile, and Josh felt his chest tighten.

"I should probably…" The rest of his words got caught behind a lump in his throat, and he settled for vague hand gestures instead.

Hannah nodded. "Be safe out there, soldier," she said, giving him a small salute.

Josh's mind jumped to the monster, and he thought that they had probably never been safe. He didn't have any idea how long it had been lurking—or even if it was the only one—but something in his gut told him that his family and friends had been risking their lives every time they set foot on Mount Washington.

"What _is_ that thing?" he breathed. Hannah remained silent, and it took a minute for Josh to realize it was a useless question to ask. "Sorry. I guess you don't know any better than me."

Hannah looked away. "No," she said. "I don't."

Josh ruminated some more, and an idea wormed its way into his brain. It was stupid, he knew, but he couldn't help himself from asking: "Is it real?"

He wasn't talking about the monster anymore. Well, he was, but he was talking about everything else, too—the masked figure on the cliff, the fall, Hannah's death. He felt light at the thought that maybe none of this was actually happening. It'd mean his sanity had gone out the window, probably never to return, but Josh would choose losing himself over losing his family, no questions asked.

Hannah pursed her lips and looked up at him with another impossibly soft expression. "I think you already know the answer to that."

* * *

Hannah didn't follow him, and Josh didn't ask her to. He wandered the mines alone, looking for anything that would either help him survive or get him the fuck out of here. By the time Josh called it quits, all he'd found was another shovel (dented) and a miner's helmet with a light that no longer worked. Josh wore it anyway.

He forced himself to take a water break on his way back, and he was listening to his stomach settle noisily when he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. His brain launched into fight mode, and he did the exact opposite of what he knew he should have done: He grabbed his new shovel and braced it defensively above his head.

"Well, that's one way to get yourself eaten."

This time Josh did freeze, because he knew that voice. He'd know that voice anywhere.

"Chris."

When Josh didn't— _couldn't_ —budge, Chris closed the distance between them and sat down next to Josh. He looked at the murky water and wrinkled his nose.

"Looks gross," he said decisively.

"No," Josh said, and Chris raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"No, it's not gross?"

What Josh was meant was _no, it can't be you_ , but he seemed to have lost the ability to speak. Between Hannah and the monster, Josh had barely thought about his boyfriend. But now that Chris was here, looking as real as Hannah, Josh felt a wave of emotions so muddled and heavy he could hardly identify them. He just knew that he couldn't handle Chris sitting there, looking at him with bright blue eyes and a shy, crooked smile. Josh absolutely could _not_ handle it.

"Hey," Chris said softly. "It's okay." He reached over to take Josh's hand, and Josh whimpered because it felt warm and safe, like all of Chris' touches. He wanted to melt into it and run away at the same time.

"No," Josh repeated, and this time his reply made perfect sense. He looked their entwined fingers and squeezed tentatively. Chris' hand squeeze in response, and Josh thought about the way he'd felt Hannah's touch, too. "I'm crazy," he sputtered. "Holy shit. I'm crazy, I'm crazy, I—"

Chris cut him off with a kiss, and Josh could only imagine what he must look like right now, lips pressed against nothing. But it didn't feel like nothing to him, and as much as he resented himself for it, Josh found his free hand coming up to cup the back of Chris' neck and keep him close.

Josh eventually let Chris pull away, and they sat there for a moment, foreheads pressed together. "You know I hate that word," Chris said, and Josh huffed a laugh; this was one hell of a way for his subconscious to fix his crippling self-esteem issues.

"Right. Sorry," Josh said, with just a hint of sarcasm. He pulled away fully now, curling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "God, this is so fucked up."

Josh thought about the real Chris, probably worrying himself sick, and he hated himself for having caused that—hated himself even _more_ because he'd never be able to fix it. There was still a slim chance of rescue, he supposed, and an even slimmer chance of escape, but Josh had always been a realist. If he was being very real with himself, he knew that making it back to Chris wasn't likely.

"Listen," Josh said. "I know you're not real, but since I'm probably going to starve to death down here, I just wanted to say I…I'm sorry for all the shit we can't do now. Not because I think I deserve it—I know I don't—but because you do. I'm sorry I didn't kiss you sooner, even when we were both just dancing around it and I knew you'd never make the first move. And I'm sorry I never said I…" He couldn't say it here, not to this figment-of-his-imagination Chris, so he let himself trail off. "You know."

Chris smiled. He looked sad. "I know."

Josh let himself breathe until his throat felt less tight. He really wasn't hydrated enough to be expending this many tears. "Is your job done now?" he asked after he'd calmed down. "Is someone else going to appear so I can confess my sins and die with a clear conscience?"

"Nah," Chris said, smirking a little. "No plans to let you die. And I'm afraid you're stuck with me and Han."

"Ah. Unfortunate on both counts. I was really hoping my last act would be punching Mike in the face." Josh mimed a slow-motion punch, and Chris laughed. The sound still made Josh's insides flutter, and he didn't know why his hallucinations were being so unusually pleasant, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially if he'd never get a chance to hear the real Chris laugh again.

"So much for that clear conscience," Chris said.

Josh waved a hand dismissively. "Munroe's had it coming. God will spare me."

Chris got to his feet and held out a hand to Josh, who took it without thinking; imaginary or not, he'd follow Chris anywhere. "Come on," Chris said. "We should head back."

Josh didn't let go of Chris' hand after he was pulled up, but Chris didn't seem to mind. "You're coming with?" Josh asked, his voice tinged with the slightest bit of hope.

"Of course," Chris said. He lifted Josh's chin with his free hand and kissed Josh lightly. "It's dangerous to go alone."

* * *

 **Wed., Feb. 12, 1:08 a.m.**

hey

so here's a thing that's really bothering me

you are like, the smartest fucking dude

i'm not just saying that because you let me touch your dick

you are really smart

and you probably know more about that mountain than anyone

i just

i REFUSE to believe that you would've gone out there

even in the middle of the night

even in the middle of a storm

and lost your way, or gotten hurt, without something happening to you

i feel like i'm missing something

maybe this is a coping mechanism—the denial phase of grief, or whatever—but i KNOW you can't be dead

i feel it in my fucking bones, dude

you have to be out there

just…stay safe

please.


	3. Chapter 3

**Fri., Feb. 14, 8:19 p.m.**

hey

guess who skipped a class today?

skipped all my classes, actually

i can't help but think you'd be a little proud of me

also, i just want to say that you were 100% right

who the FUCK picks chemistry as their elective science course?

who the fuck? does that?

I THOUGHT WE'D BE DOING COOL THINGS AND INSTEAD I AM SUFFERING

i swear to god if you come back, i will listen to everything you say for the rest of my life

well…most things

my profs have been understanding tho, which i guess is a good thing

but then i realized that's probably bc word of my minor meltdown in the aforementioned Class of Suffering spread around the faculty and now everyone's scared i'm going to cause a scene

is this how people acted around you? like they were walking on eggshells?

is this how I acted around you?

if it is, dude, i'm sorry

i know it probably doesn't matter anymore, but

Chris' phone rang in his empty dorm room, and Chris thought for the millionth time that week that he really needed to change his ringtone. It was the Zelda theme, and every time it went off, he remembered the first time Josh had heard it. He'd given Chris that infuriating smirk, and Chris had immediately felt stupid. Then Josh had said, "You are the biggest fucking nerd," and kissed him long and hard, and Chris thought that it was probably the greatest idea he would ever have.

Now Josh was gone, and Chris was staring down a screen that said WASHINGTON LODGE. He picked up without hesitation.

"Hey."

"Hey," Beth said. "What's up?"

 _Definitely not sending super gay Facebook messages to your missing brother, haha! That would be weird!_

"Nothing," Chris said. He closed his laptop and shifted it off his legs, burrowing deeper into the bed. "What's up…there?" He tried to keep his voice casual, but they both knew what he meant: _Have they been found?_ Beth exhaled, making their already shitty phone connection crackle, and that was pretty much all the answer Chris needed.

"Nothing," Beth huffed. "Fucking nothing."

"Any luck with your dad?" he asked.

"Nope." Beth let out a laugh that sounded a little unhinged, and Chris winced. Beth had been trying to convince her dad to let her join the search parties, but Bob Washington was nothing if not stubborn. Unfortunately, so was Beth. "He won't even talk to me about it anymore," she continued. "He just says, 'Not now, Beth,' and walks out the freakin' door. I just—I know why he's doing it, and I get it, but if _he_ were the one stuck inside all day…"

"I know," Chris said. "It sucks."

"Everything sucks," Beth agreed.

She fell into a disgruntled silence, and Chris didn't know what else to say. He and Beth had never been that close; she was all hard edges compared to Hannah's softness, and Chris—a pretty soft guy himself—was more than a little intimidated. But now she was calling him all the time, though there'd been no progress, and he couldn't leave her hanging. Even if he could barely hold himself together.

Chris was trying to think of a more positive conversation starter when Beth asked, "Hey, have you talked to anyone? I mean, besides Sam?" Her voice had the same forced-casual tone that Chris had just used on her, and Chris felt like he knew that translation, too: _Are they sorry?_

He wished he had a comforting answer for her, but in all honestly, Chris hadn't seen anyone. Not even Sam. Now that he thought about it, Sam might've texted him a few days ago, and he might have forgotten to answer. The only person he'd talked to besides Beth (and the Josh in his head) was his mom, and that was only when her texts got particularly frantic.

"Uh, no," Chris admitted. "I haven't really…I haven't really left my room that much."

"Oh." There was an awkward pause. "Oh, shit. Chris."

"It's fine," Chris said. It wasn't fine, really. He was still wearing last night's pajamas, and he'd been subsisting on nothing but granola bars and cheap delivery food since his panic attack left him even more terrified of the dining hall crowds than usual. But Beth couldn't see him right now—thank God—and she didn't need to know any of that.

"I mean, I've been dumping everything on you, and I barely even ask…"

"It's okay," Chris insisted, but his voice was starting to waver. He wiped impatiently at the corner of his eye. _Damn it._ "I just want to be here for you," he said.

Beth laughed again, and this time it was soft and sad. "Jesus, Chris. How did Josh ever manage to get someone like you?"

Chris laughed too—though his was a little watery—and thought, _no, it's the other way around. It's always been the other way around._ "Honestly?" he said. "I never stood a chance. Hook, line, and sinker. Right from the beginning."

"You _were_ pretty cute when you were pining," Beth said. Chris meant to reply, but all that came out of his mouth was a small, choked sound that he hoped Beth wouldn't hear through all their static.

No such luck.

"Chris?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

Chris cleared his throat and managed to speak through the tightness. "Yeah, sorry. I'm fine." Before Beth could say anything else, he added hastily, "I'm actually pretty hungry though, so I think I'm going to grab some food."

"Okay."

"Call me if you need me, yeah?" _Maybe I won't start blubbering next time._

"Yeah," Beth said. "But the line goes both ways, you know. Just saying."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Good," she said. "And if you see Mike—kick his ass for me."

They said their goodbyes and Chris hung up, feeling better and worse at the same time. Beth's kindness was painful—like everything else at this point—and somehow Josh's absence felt amplified. Like talking about him had brought him back in some way, and now he had disappeared all over again. Chris wondered if that feeling would ever go away.

He glanced over at Josh's side of the room. The police had been through it, of course, but it was still almost exactly the way Josh had left it, and the sight of his unmade bed made Chris' chest feel like it was collapsing in on itself. Josh had never been one to make his bed. He had myriad reasons why it was a pointless endeavor (one of which included, "Can't you just pay someone to do it?"), and the night before they left for the lodge, Josh hadn't even slept in his bed. He'd crawled under Chris' sheets at some ungodly hour and nuzzled his face into Chris' neck like a cat. Chris had a vague memory of groaning and trying to swat him away, but Josh had been insistent. As always.

"I can't sleep," he said.

Chris' eyes fluttered open; Josh not sleeping was an actual red flag, and he battled his drowsiness long enough to mutter, "Bad dreams?"

Josh shook his head, and his curls tickled Chris' jawline. "Just excited. I mean, not as excited as Hannah, but excited."

Realizing his boyfriend was just being a shit, Chris let his eyes fall shut. "Mmm," he said. One of his hands flopped around before finding Josh's head, and he patted it sleepily. "Couple more hours, dude."

"Can I stay with you?" Josh asked, and Chris groaned again. He wasn't exactly the most petite person in the world, and these dorm beds weren't built for two. Chris slept terribly when Josh was in his bed—for many reasons—and Chris had tried very hard to set ground rules. Somehow, they never seemed to work.

"Just tonight," Chris said (the same thing he said every time). Josh hummed contentedly and snuggled in closer, and if he said anything else, Chris didn't hear it. He'd already fallen back asleep.

When their alarms went off a few hours later, Josh—ready to go in the middle of the night—was suddenly unwilling to get out of bed. He pinned Chris beneath him and left marks down his neck until Chris was squirming—because _shit,_ they were going to be late, and _double shit_ , he was really turned on.

"Just a quickie, Cochise," Josh said. "We'll be fine." He rucked Chris' shirt up over his stomach, and his mouth moved lower. Chris said yes, because Chris always said yes, and it ended up not being quick after all. They nearly missed their flight, and long story short, Josh's bed never got made.

"Fuck," Chris said now, staring at Josh's messy sheets. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the memory, and his stomach growled loudly. So he actually was hungry. He felt almost relieved that he hadn't lied to Beth after all, and he reached under the bed. His hand found the box of granola bars easily ( _practice makes perfect_ , he thought sarcastically), and he rummaged around before the realization hit: It was empty.

"Oh, come on," Chris murmured. He hung himself over the side of the bed, hoping one had just fallen out, but there was nothing. Chris grabbed his wallet next, one of his thumbs already poised to dial his go-to Chinese delivery place, but all that was left in his wallet was a dollar bill and a bit of loose change. _Fuck._ He supposed he could use his credit card, but his parents' names were on that card too, andhe knew it was shitty to spend money on food when they paid so much for his meal plan.

Hating his good conscience, Chris resigned himself to his fate. He rolled out of bed and pulled on his shoes, pausing a moment before grabbing one of Josh's hoodies off his boyfriend's chair. Chris felt weird, like he'd disturbed some sort of holy order, but then he was just distracted by how much the hoodie smelled like Josh. Josh had never used cologne (he didn't fall into _every_ rich boy stereotype, thank you very much), and he smelled like musk with just a hint of spices. Cinnamon, Chris thought once, before realizing that maybe he shouldn't have been analyzing his boyfriend's scent. Then he'd realized he didn't actually give a shit, and he thought about it some more.

Chris pulled on the hoodie and knew immediately that he looked ridiculous. It hung at least an inch above Chris' waistline, and the sleeves didn't reach his wrists. Frankly, Chris didn't care. He tugged the hood up and walked out the door.

The whiteboard hanging on Chris and Josh's door was full of messages—from Josh's friends, Chris' friends, complete strangers. Every inch was covered, and Chris saw now that people had graduated to taping notes. Part of him wanted to rip them off and throw them in the trash, and another part of him never wanted to touch them. He went with the latter so as not to be a dick, and he was locking the door behind him when one caught his eye.

 _I 3 you, Chris!_ it said. _Call me? —Sam_

Chris' stomach twisted with guilt. He pulled his phone out of the hoodie's pocket and found that there _was_ a message from the other day.

 _Just checking in to see how you're doing. Want to grab coffee soon?_ Heart emoji.

Chris imagined Sam standing outside his door, wanting to talk but too scared to knock. He imagined her scribbling the note while he lay in bed, and he felt like an asshole. Cursing under his breath, he pulled her note off the door and tucked it into his pocket as a reminder. He _would_ talk to Sam.

But first, he would get food. Chris may have coerced Josh into choosing this dorm because it was next to one of the few dining halls that served late-night breakfast food, and Chris loved nothing so much as he loved breakfast food. Particularly if he was eating it at night. It was probably the most rebellious thing he'd ever do.

The dining hall was almost empty, and Chris breathed a sigh of relief. He'd forgotten that it was a Friday night, and most people were probably out at parties or bars. He piled eggs and bacon onto his plate and tucked himself into a corner seat, scrolling mindlessly through his phone as he ate.

A few minutes later, someone pulled back the chair next to him, and Chris glanced up to see Mike. He stood there with a plate of pancakes balanced in one hand, and he looked at Chris sheepishly.

"Hey," he said. He looked from the chair to Chris and back again. "Can I sit?"

Chris shrugged and looked back at his phone. "It's a free country," he said, before feeling his cheeks heat up. _It's a free country?_ How old was he, twelve?

Mike sat down and poked at his food, and Chris gave him a once-over. Maybe it was just the fluorescent lights, but Mike's skin looked pale, and he had deep bags under his eyes. _Not Mr. Happy Go Lucky anymore_ , Chris thought triumphantly, and even though Chris probably looked worse, he couldn't help but take advantage.

"Beth told me to kick your ass," Chris said. They held each other's gaze until Mike broke it, lowering his head to rub the back of his neck nervously.

"Are you going to?" Mike asked.

Chris looked at Mike's toned arms. Was that a serious question? This guy could take Chris down in a heartbeat. Chris found he like having the upper hand, though, and he shrugged again. "I decided it's not worth the effort," he said.

Mike snorted. "That's cold, Christopher. I'd almost rather you punch me."

"Careful what you wish for," Chris warned, and Mike huffed a small laugh. Chris did, too. The thought of Chris trying to punch anything was a little ridiculous.

An awkward silence hung over the table, and then Mike said, "So…how have you been?"

Chris narrowed his eyes. It was a Friday night and he was shoving scrambled eggs in his face, wearing last night's pajamas and his missing boyfriend's too-small hoodie. How did Mike _think_ he was?

"Uh, terrible?" Chris said.

Mike flushed. "Right. Sorry. Stupid question."

"What are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be out doing…" Chris thought of all the things that popular, conventionally attractive boys like Mike might do on Friday nights and gestured vaguely. "…stuff?"

"You know I'm a sucker for the pancakes," Mike said with a weak smile. "Plus, I'm not really in a party mood tonight."

"Funny," Chris said. "You were in a real party mood at the lodge."

A muscle twitched in Mike's cheek and he gripped his fork a little tighter. Chris braced himself to move, suddenly scared that he was the one about to get punched, but then the moment passed. Mike's shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand over his tired face.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I know. I was a real dick."

"You were," Chris agreed. "You were a dick, and now my boyfriend and one of my bests friends are missing."

Mike buried his face in both of his hands, and he mumbled something that sounded like an apology.

"What was that?" Chris asked, a bit of a lilt in his voice. "I can't hear you in there, Mikey."

Mike's hands came down to slap the edge of the table, and when he looked at Chris, his eyes were a little wet. "I said I'm sorry, Chris. I'm fucking sorry."

Chris blinked in surprise. Mike apologizing was weird, but Mike apologizing with tears in his eyes was even weirder. No way this was an act. When Chris asked his next question, he wasn't trying to push Mike's buttons anymore; he was genuinely curious.

"Are you sorry for what you did, or do you just feel guilty because something happened? There's a difference."

"Wow, taking lessons from Josh's shrink now?" Mike asked. He said "shrink" like it was something vile, and Chris stood so fast that his chair clattered to the floor behind him. The few people in the dining hall turned at the commotion, but Chris was too angry to be embarrassed.

"Fuck you, Michael," he hissed. He was about to walk out when Mike grabbed his arm. Chris tried to yank it free, but Mike's grip was tight. He stood too, a pained expression on his face.

"Shit," Mike said. "That was… Sorry. That was really bad."

"No shit it was bad!" Chris was nearly shouting. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Like, even beyond everything that's just happened? Because I know you're not really an asshole, but you can still be _such an asshole_."

Chris didn't know if that made sense to anyone but him, but Mike seemed to get it. His hold on Chris' arm loosened a little, and he looked defeated. "I know," he said. "I know, I just…" He trailed off. "Look, I'm not expecting you to forgive me. I know that's something I have to earn. I just want you to know I'm sorry. And to answer your question, it's both."

They stared at each other for a long, tense moment. Chris waited until his blood stopped pounding in his ears and then said, "I appreciate your honesty." Mike started to step back, and this time Chris held him in place. "You know I'm not the only one you need to apologize to, right?"

Mike gave him a sad smile. "I know. You were just the first on my list."

Chris thought about how Mike wasn't the only one to blame for what happened to Hannah and Josh. Yes, he'd been a real dick, and it was _partially_ his fault. But it had been Jess' idea, and Matt had filmed it, and everyone but Chris and Sam had eagerly joined in. There was a line of people who still owed Chris an apology. Mike was just the start.

Chris nodded and said, "Likewise."

Mike left without touching his food. When Chris got back to his room, he texted Mike the phone number for the Washington lodge with the message _for when you're ready._


	4. Chapter 4

"What do you mean it's not possible?" Bob tried to keep his voice down, but Melinda and Beth crept into the room like bugs crawling out of the woodwork, eyeing him warily.

His lawyer sighed over the phone. It was 6 a.m. in Alberta, which meant it was 5 a.m. in Los Angeles. Sarah had definitely been sleeping when Bob called, but Bob Washington was the kind of person people always picked up for—even before the sun came up.

"I mean it's not possible _right at this moment_ ," Sarah said. "You might own the mountain, but the sanatorium belongs to the state. If I recall correctly, Mr. Washington, I asked if you were interested in that building when you purchased the mountain, and your response was, 'Why would I want that rotting pile of shit?'"

Bob sighed. He didn't remember saying that, but he didn't doubt it was true. He said a lot of things. "Okay," he said. "Okay, well, I'm interested in it _now_. I need it _now_. That place has been a fucking accident waiting to happen, and now my son and daughter are missing. Do you think that's a coincidence?"

"I don't know, Mr. Washington," Sarah said. The phone was practically shaking in Bob's hand, but Sarah didn't sound the least bit angry. By this point, she was probably immune to his short temper.

"Isn't there…" Bob waved his free hand around, searching for a loophole. "Like a thing about protecting Aboriginal land? Something that would make it…not the government's?"

"There _is_ a part of the Canadian constitution that protects Aboriginal land from government interference, but that didn't happen until 1982—well after the sanatorium was built. I guess that explains how it was built in the first place, but off the top of my head, I'm not sure what that means for it now. Legalities aside, though, you're the one who fought to _buy_ this Aboriginal land, Mr. Washington. Are you sure you want its protection to be your primary argument? The press could have a field day with that."

"It's not like I stole it," Bob griped, but he knew Sarah was right. Sarah was always right. It was why he'd never fired her.

"Look, I'm not saying it can't happen. If you got the mountain, you can get the sanatorium. Just don't expect it by sundown."

Bob knew that was fair, but he didn't know how much longer he could wait. Josh and Hannah had been missing for more than a week, and it felt like every passing second took them further away from him. Quite frankly, Bob was starting to fray at the edges.

He took a deep breath. "Fine," he said. "Do what you can."

"Always do," Sarah said. "One more thing, though…" She paused like she was debating whether or not to say it (which meant she probably shouldn't), and then said it anyway. "I've seen that place, Mr. Washington, and you're right. It _is_ an accident waiting to happen. So even if it's yours and you can send in a search party, I can't guarantee that a search party will actually go in."

Silence fell, and Bob's stomach tightened with anxiety. He'd been so dead-set on getting the damn place that he hadn't even thought about that.

"Are you still there?" Sarah said, and Bob tried to brush away the heavy feeling in his gut with another wave of his hand.

"I'll pay someone," he said gruffly.

Under any other circumstances, Bob knew Sarah would have laughed. "I'll pay someone" was his solution for everything, and while most of the time it worked, it never failed to amuse her. This time, though, she knew better.

"Okay," she said. "Can I go back to sleep now, Mr. Washington?"

Bob blinked in confusion and then realized it was a Saturday. He'd woken up his lawyer at 5 a.m. on a Saturday. That was a dick move, even for him.

"Right," he said awkwardly. "Right, sorry. Keep me posted."

"Sure thing. "

He hung up and ran a hand over his unshaven face. He selfishly hoped that Melinda and Beth would be gone when he opened his eyes again, but still they lingered. Beth held up her hands impatiently. "Well?" she prompted.

"It's…nothing important," Bob said. What he really meant was _nothing good_ , but he saw that tiny glimmer of hope in Beth's eyes when he came back every evening. It was buried underneath her frustration with him, but it was there, and he couldn't bring himself to tell her bad news. It was so much easier not to tell her anything at all.

"Bullshit," Beth said.

"Beth," Melinda warned.

One of Beth's hands curled into a fist at her side, and Bob could see her breathing pick up. He braced himself for the inevitable explosion, but after a moment, Beth just exhaled slowly. Her shoulders slumped.

"Hannah and Josh are my family, too," she said.

"Oh, honey—" Melinda started.

"Are you going out today, dad?" Beth interrupted. Her face was calm, but the look she gave Bob was positively fierce. It was almost frightening how much of himself Bob saw in her.

He nodded.

"And I'm not allowed to come?" she asked.

There were a lot of things Bob wanted to say to that. _I'm sorry_ and _I love you_ and _I just want you to be safe_ , but for all the shit that came out of Bob's mouth, he was terrible at saying those kinds of things. He settled for a shake of his head.

"Of course," Beth said. She shrugged in defeat and opened her mouth to say something else, but then dismissed herself with a half-wave and left the room. Melinda looked from Beth to Bob and back again, and when she seemed to realize that Bob wasn't going to do anything, she followed Beth. Bob let them both go.

He thought about Beth the entire time he got ready. He understood why Beth wanted to come so badly, but he also wanted to tell her how miserable it was—tromping through endless mountain and mines, getting absolutely nowhere, and then waking up the next day to do it all over again. He felt like he was stuck in a time loop, and there were only two ways out: finding his kids alive, or finding their bodies.

Trying not to think about the second option, Bob stepped out into the crisp morning air. The police and search parties were already there, huddled in groups and drinking shitty coffee they'd brought from the crappy convenience store at the very bottom of the mountain. It occurred to Bob that he probably should have offered to make some of his own by this point, and for the second time that morning he felt like an asshole. _On track for a new record, Bob_ , he thought, and then pushed the thought away, trying to focus on another pressing matter.

Bob scanned the crowd and zeroed in on the lead investigator for Josh and Hannah's case, taking off as soon as he found him. The officer seemed to brace himself when he saw Bob's approach, and Bob wondered if most people felt like that when they saw him.

Probably.

"Preston," Bob said, because nothing put you on first-name basis with an official like talking to them about your missing kids every day. Though this time, it wasn't his kids he wanted to talk about. "Have you found him?" Bob asked.

Preston sighed, and Bob knew he wasn't going to like the answer. "Not a trace, sir," Preston said. "We have a record of your reports on him, but we don't have anything else. No name, no picture." He shrugged helplessly. "Guy's like a ghost."

Bob barked a dry laugh. "The Bigfoot of Blackwood Pines," he quipped, and Preston smiled awkwardly, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to laugh or not.

"We'll keep looking," Preston said. "Don't worry."

Bob wanted to feel reassured, but the fact that the man who had been sending his family cryptic messages since they moment they moved in picked now of all times to go AWOL was anything but reassuring. It was downright suspicious.

Bob could feel his mind starting to wander in another upsetting direction, so he excused himself and went looking for his search partner. The sooner they left, the sooner Bob could stop thinking and start looking. He found Alison—a young, Canada-nice girl who looked like she was barely older than Josh—talking to one of the search dog's handlers, and when she saw Bob, she smiled sympathetically.

"It's a mine day," she said, holding up a helmet. Bob strapped it on, gave the dog a quick pat, and didn't bother with formalities. "Are we ready to go?" he asked.

"When you are," Alison said kindly, and the dog—a border collie named Mia—let out a happy bark. Alison pulled out a map of Mount Washington and pointed to a small, circled area with today's date written over it. "This is where we're going in today. It should be completely unexplored, but keep your eye out for any of our markers." Her eyes roamed over the map's endless other circles, and she said, "If we start retracing our old steps, we've got plenty of other places to go. Sound good?"

She looked at Bob for confirmation, and Bob wanted to say _two of my children are missing, nothing is good_ , but he swallowed his frustration and nodded. They set off toward their designated entrance, and Bob glanced at the morning sun as they walked, the light barely peeking through dense winter clouds. He imagined the darkness of the mines and took a breath, letting the cold, clean air fill his lungs while he still had the chance.

The entrance greeted them like the mouth of a horrible beast, and they let themselves be swallowed. They switched on their helmet lights almost immediately, but the darkness was like a blanket, getting heavier and heavier as the entrance became a pinprick behind them. Alison and the handler couldn't have been more than a few feet away from him, but when Bob glanced out of the corner of his eye, he couldn't see anything besides their outline and the bobbing lights.

They called Hannah and Josh's names as they went, their voices bouncing eerily off the walls around them. It went on like this for hours, Alison pausing every now and then to leave a glow-in-the-dark marker on the nearest wall and trace their route on the map. Bob kept expecting to see a marker from their previous expeditions, but they never did, and he found himself wondering if the mines were a living entity—twisting and turning around them, ensuring Josh and Hannah were always just out of his reach.

That would make a pretty good horror movie.

Just then something caught in Bob's throat, and his voice cut off into a hacking cough. Alison's light shone on him as she turned to look, and he heard her cluck her tongue.

"Alright," she said. "Water break." Her light moved downward as she checked her watch. "And lunch break," she added.

"I'm fine," Bob protested, his voice rasping. "It's just this fucking _air_."

"Okay, maybe _you're_ fine, but _I'm_ hungry," Alison said. Her light whirled around until she found the nearest wall, and she promptly sat down, leaning against it. "Not exactly five-star, but it'll do."

Bob scoffed, but now that he thought about it, his stomach was pretty empty. He'd been so distracted by the sanatorium business this morning that he'd completely forgotten about breakfast, and passing out in the depths of these mines definitely wasn't the smartest idea. He sat down next to Alison and let out an involuntary sigh at the relief in his legs.

"Holy shit," he breathed.

Alison chuckled next to him. "Feels good to sit down?" she asked, and Bob grumbled in response; he hadn't meant to say that, and now it felt like admitting weakness. Even though his legs _were_ fucking sore.

He listened to the click-clacking of Mia's nails as she and the handler joined them. Mia settled her head on Alison's leg, and Alison held out a small piece of her sandwich. Mia gobbled it greedily, and the rest of them ate in silence.

When he was done, Bob took one last drink of his water before stowing everything back into his backpack. He wanted to get moving again, but he also didn't. Before he realized what he was doing, he voiced the thought that hadn't left him since the first time he set foot in the mines.

"No one could survive down here," he said. "There's no fucking way."

He didn't really expect an answer, but after a moment, Alison spoke next to him.

"People can survive a lot of things, Mr. Washington. You'd be surprised."

Bob tried to laugh, but it didn't come out right. "I hope I am," he said.

He heard shuffling as Alison got her things together and stood up. Her light shone on him again, and when he squinted into it, he saw her outstretched hand.

"Up we get," she said.

He took the offer gratefully, feeling his legs tremble a little as he forced them back to work. Mia bumped up against him, excited to be on the move again, and they kept going. Bob tried to cling to Alison's words and the hope they carried, but instead he imagined Josh and Hannah getting stuck down here— _dying_ down here. He imagined them withering to nothing, bones in an unmarked grave that no one would ever find, and he called their names with more persistence than ever.

At some point during Bob's morbid musings, Mia started to whine—quiet at first, then loud and keening. Her high-pitched yelps nearly drowned out their own voices, and finally the handler called, "Stop!"

Bob and Alison turned around simultaneously. Caught under their spotlight, Mia squirmed against her harness, nails scrabbling at the ground as she tried to move backward. Her tail was tucked firmly between her legs, and whines fell endlessly from her open mouth, filling the air around them.

Bob didn't know much about dogs, but she looked pretty fucking scared.

"Don't you train them for this?" Bob asked, a hint of impatience in his voice.

"We do," the handler said. "I don't know why—she's never acted like this before." He tugged on the leash, and Mia let out a panicked bark, her eyes wild.

"Come on, Mia," Alison cooed. Her light lowered as she got down on her knees. She slid her backpack off her shoulder and pulled out another piece of food. "You've been such a good girl," she said, holding it at arm's length. "Don't you want a treat?"

Mia fell silent and looked at the food curiously. For a second Bob thought it was going to work, but then she turned away, her noises starting up again. Bob watched a few more coercion attempts before he lost his patience.

"Unless you plan to carry her for the rest of the day, I suggest you take her back," he said to the handler.

Alison stood up, looking at Mia sadly. "He's probably right."

"I…" the handler started. "I don't know what's gotten into her." He let out a disappointed sigh, assured Bob it wouldn't happen again, and then said, "Alright, Mia. Let's go."

The handler took a step in the direction they came, and Mia immediately bolted, taking off so fast she nearly got free. Bob and Alison watched until they were out of sight.

"That was weird," Alison said under her breath. She turned to Bob, looking concerned.

"You wanna join them?" Bob asked, gesturing down the path Mia and the handler had just disappeared down.

"No," Alison said immediately. "Let's keep going."

So they did. Josh and Hannah's names didn't even sound like words anymore, but they kept calling them. They hadn't walked very far when Bob's light caught on the opening of a small cavern, and he turned toward it while Alison was busy setting up another marker. He stood in the entrance, turning his head so the beam of light swept over the room. It was small, probably the most enclosed space he'd seen so far, and he was on the verge of deeming it empty when his light landed on something.

Curled on the ground was a body, thin and pale. The sight made his heart jump, and he almost cried with relief when he saw that the thing was alive, its bony chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths.

Then it lifted its head, and for the first time in his life, Bob Washington was speechless.

Milky white eyes blinked slowly into the light, and its pupils didn't dilate because it _had_ no pupils. A sleepy chitter escaped its mouth as it scanned the room, not seeming to notice him. After what felt like an eternity, it opened its mouth in a wide yawn—revealing long, impossibly sharp teeth—and settled back down, its eyes falling shut.

Bob had no idea what was going on, but he was sure of two things.

1\. It wasn't Josh or Hannah.

2\. It wasn't human.

Bob heard Alison's footsteps behind him, and she might've been scolding him for wandering off without saying anything, but his brain seemed incapable of processing words at the moment. He whirled around and dashed toward her as quickly and quietly as he could. He gripped her shoulders tightly and whispered, "Run."

Alison gave him a confused look and opened her mouth. Bob covered it to silence her, and her nails clawed at him, trying to pull his hands away.

"Fucking. _Run_ ," Bob said again, and he grabbed her wrist to tug her after him. She stumbled a few feet before yanking herself free.

"What are you _talking_ about?" she said. She looked back toward the cavern, and Bob's chest tightened, as though talking about it would summon it out of its lair—whatever _it_ was.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know, but there was something in there, and we need to go. Okay?" He thought of Mia and his fear blossomed. "Shit. We need to go right now. Come _on_."

With that, Bob took off, not caring that he couldn't see where he was going or that he was almost certainly getting himself lost. He ran blindly until he found another cavern—small, but bigger than that thing's room—and turned into it, taking a minute to pull himself together.

By pull himself together, he meant curse and kick at the wall.

"What—the fuck—is wrong—with this _place_?" he said, punctuating his words with kick after kick. He hated this mountain—hated its stupid sanatorium and endless mines and disappearing mountain men. He hated himself for thinking his family had needed it, for buying it just because he could and then letting his kids run wild because he didn't have the time or energy to control them. _Give 'em their freedom_ , he'd told Melinda once. _They'll be fine._

Now they were _not_ fine, and while kicking a rock wall wasn't helping anything, Bob did it until his legs gave out. He lay there panting, half-hoping the musty air was carrying an airborne virus that would just kill him already. If anybody deserved that punishment, he thought, it was him. _Just not my kids_ , he begged. _Please, God_.

Bob heard a deep rumbling from the rock above him, and for a wild second he thought it was God answering his too-late prayer. Then a few rocks fell from the ceiling, and he realized what was happening. His flight reflex kicked in again, hard, and he tried to scramble to his feet and beat it out of the cavern. He was barely standing when the world shook violently around him, and everything went black.

* * *

Josh woke up to the earth shaking. It trembled beneath him, and he sat up just in time to hear a distant boom. A few rocks clattered to the ground around him, and he flailed his arms around, reaching for Chris and Hannah.

He found them easily—they were always there now—and said, "Did you hear that?"

"It's a cave-in," Chris said. "Nothing to worry about."

"Right," Josh said, and he was on the verge of lying back down—he was so _tired_ these days—when an idea popped into his head. "Why would there be a cave-in?" he asked.

"Uh," Hannah said. "Because these mines are old?"

"Yeah," Josh said. "But it's been at least a week now, and I haven't heard one before."

"The mines are also really big, Josh," Chris countered. "You know that. One could've easily happened without you noticing."

"True," Josh conceded. "But you don't think something could have caused that? Like…" He didn't mean the monster—he'd seen it move, and it was way too lithe to cause that sort of damage. He meant something much more hopeful, something he couldn't even bring himself to say aloud.

Thankfully, he didn't need to say it for Chris and Hannah to know what he meant, but he didn't get the reaction he wanted. They looked at him with a mixture of concern and sympathy.

"Josh," Chris said gently. He frowned and glanced at Hannah, who gave him a look like, _You've got this one, buddy_. "Cave-ins are natural occurrences in a place like this."

"So you're saying I'm wrong," Josh said, the slightest edge in his voice.

"I don't mean it like…" Chris said, and then sighed. "You're in a shitty situation, and you're trying to make the best of it. I get that. We get that. But we're also here to protect you, and even if it was… _someone_ , one cave-in can easily trigger another. Or wake a monster."

Chris looked at Hannah and she nodded in agreement. "Chris is right, Josh," she said. "It's just not safe to go out there right now."

Josh almost hated them for it, but that was a solid argument. An argument he probably should have thought of himself, but after days of nothing but danger and starvation, he wanted this to be a sign. He realized now that he wanted it more than anything, and somehow this small rejection felt like the biggest blow since Hannah's death. _No one's coming for me._

Chris reached for his hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry, dude," he said.

Hannah took his other hand. "Me, too."

"It's fine," Josh said, because now he just felt silly for having thought of it at all. He kept his head down, unable to look Chris and Hannah in the eye. "You're right. It was probably nothing."

* * *

The next thing Bob knew, he was lying flat on his back again, and his legs were screaming with pain. When his vision cleared and his head stopped swimming, he looked up to see a wall of rubble where the cavern entrance had been—and when his gaze dropped lower, he saw that his legs were trapped underneath that wall.

" _Fuck_ ," Bob shouted. He could see blood starting to pool underneath the rocks, and his heart pounded fervently in his chest. He needed help, and he needed it _now_. With a jolt he remembered that the search party had loaned him one of their communicators, one that would supposedly work underground. He'd never tested it before, but now was as good a time as any.

He'd clipped it to the back of his jeans, and he tried to reach underneath himself to grab it. The slight shift in his hips brought a wave of pain so strong he nearly blacked out again, and he fell back, gasping. He waited for it to subside and then tried again. It worked, but the communicator had been hopelessly crushed under his weight. It was nothing more than a handful of broken machinery. Bob cursed and flung it away from him.

"Mr. Washington?" Alison's voice came muffled through the rock wall. "Can you hear me?"

"Oh my god," Bob said. He let out a cracked laugh that bounced off the walls, and when it reached his ears again, he didn't sound like himself. "Yes, Alison! My legs—you need to call—"

"Are you hurt?" Alison interrupted, and Bob groaned, wondering if she couldn't hear him.

"Yes!" he shouted, as loudly as he could manage. "My legs are hurt, and my communicator is broken! You need to contact someone!"

Bob heard a muffled curse through the wall. "Okay," Alison shouted, and even with the rubble between them, Bob could tell she was scared out of her mind. She was just a kid, really. "Just hang on," she said. "I'll contact someone, and we'll get you—" Alison fell silent, and Bob waited for her to finish, hardly daring to breathe.

When nothing happened, Bob finally called, "Alison?"

And then she screamed.

It lasted only a second before cutting off into a wet choking sound, and Bob heard flesh tear and bones crunch. He knew those sounds, spent a frankly ridiculous amount of time getting them just right in his films, but now that he was hearing them for real, he nearly threw up.

There was a heavy thud and a silence, and Bob hoped—prayed—that it was over. Or better yet, that this was a fever dream. He closed his eyes, and it came again: the chitters. Still sleepy, but curious too—curious and hungry. Something scraped against the rock just above Bob's legs, and Bob pictured nails as long and sharp as those teeth. He imagined them reaching for him through the gaps in the rock, and he held his breath.

The scratching persisted until the thing gave up, and then Bob listened to the sound of it dragging Alison's body away. It was nearly out of earshot when a gentle keen floated on the heavy air, slipping through the rocks and worming its way in Bob's ears.

Bob didn't speak its language, but the message seemed clear: _Don't you worry_ , it said. _I'll be back_.


	5. Chapter 5

A blinding light shone in Bob's face, and his first coherent thought was, _Holy shit, I got into heaven?_ Then his sensations returned, and he realized there was no way heaven was this painful. He was cold and sweaty at the same time, and the sharp rocks underneath him—which had seemed like the least of his problems when he'd first gotten himself into this predicament—felt like tiny needles, poking into all the soft spots of his back. His legs were still on fire, and when he groaned, a flurry of voices sounded from somewhere beyond the light. People were calling his name.

He squinted now, and as his eyes adjusted he saw a gap, high up in the rock wall. There was rustling on the other side, and a hand reached through. It was gloved, not clawed, but Bob flew into a panic almost immediately. Dirt burrowed under his fingernails as he tried to move backwards, ignoring the burning sensation that flared up his legs.

"No!" he shouted, before he realized shouting would only draw that _thing_. He lowered his voice, repeating the word until it was just a mess of sound. An unfamiliar face peered through the opening— _human_ , Bob tried to tell himself, _you're okay, it's human_ —and the person cursed at the sight of him.

"He's alive," they called over their shoulder, and sounds of celebration erupted from over the wall. Bob wanted to tell them all to shut the _fuck_ up and turn off that goddamn light, but his speech was still stuck in a pattern, and he couldn't find a word besides _no_.

"Alright, Mr. Washington," the man said slowly. "We're going to get you out of there, but we need you to stay still, okay?" Bob was propped up on the palms of his hands, caught in the escape like a cornered animal. The man's eyes trailed downward to Bob's legs, and Bob could hear his sharp intake of breath. "You can lie back down, but you need to stay awake. You can't go back to sleep. Do you understand me?"

Bob managed a nod and the face disappeared, leaving him alone in the cell he'd made for himself. He had no idea how long he'd been stuck here, or when he'd passed out. All he remembered was the sight of that creature and the sound of Alison's murder, followed by deafening silence as he waited for his own inevitable demise. He must have lost consciousness in the midst of that, and now he was being rescued.

"Rescued," he mumbled, and the word sounded unfamiliar on his tongue. Everything felt unfamiliar, even his own body, and he wondered if he had switched places with some other Bob Washington, some person who looked and sounded like him but wasn't. _It's possible_ , his brain supplied, and Bob found himself surprisingly unconcerned at the thought.

It took a long time to take down the wall, and when it was finally gone, a mass of people surrounded Bob, poking and prodding and asking questions his brain couldn't process fast enough. Soon the medics moved him onto a stretcher, and when they lifted him, Bob saw two things. First he saw his legs, crushed and mangled; one was twisted in a way that shouldn't have been possible. Next, he saw the pool of blood just beyond where the wall had been. It shone a deep, velvety red under the harsh glare of the lights, looking thick and viscous to the touch. A trail started in the direction that the thing had gone, and while Bob couldn't see beyond the halo of lights, he felt sure the blood continued, all the way back to the thing's lair.

The sight triggered something, and Bob flailed on the stretcher, forgetting himself enough to let out an incoherent wail. People yelled around him as he almost toppled to the ground, and Bob's mind flashed with a single command: _Warn them, warn them, warn them_.

"It—Alison—"

The medics surrounding him snapped to attention at Alison's name, and Bob's brain managed to filter one of their questions.

"Do you know where Alison is, Mr. Washington?"

Bob's eyes danced until they met the pair looking into his. What he saw there was fear and hope. It made him think of Beth, and suddenly he didn't want to say anything—wanted to let these people live in a world where Alison might still be alive, for just a little while longer. But the truth was bubbling up behind his lips, ready to burst. If only he could get the goddamn _words_ out.

"It—took—her," Bob choked. He sounded like he was talking around something in his mouth, and he tried again. "It _took_ her."

"What took her?" the medic asked, and boy, wasn't that the million dollar question? Bob floundered before finding a word that felt right on his tongue; a word for things that lived under the bed and went bump in the night.

A word that never frightened him until now.

The medic's face fell when he said it, but not in the way it should have. That fear should have been amplified, the hope diminished, but instead he just looked disappointed, and Bob wondered why it didn't work. He said it again, louder, but the medic waved a dismissive hand.

"Get him to a hospital."

Bob searched the crowd for an ally, but no one was reacting properly. No one was _scared_ enough.

No one believed him.

* * *

There were no tremors when Josh woke up next, but there wasa rock in his mouth.

"What the—" Josh started, and his voice came out garbled around the intrusion. He extracted the rock gently, thanking the stars it was too big to choke on, and stared at it like it was an alien artifact. He moved to roll onto his back and bumped into Chris, curled up quietly behind him.

"Dude," Josh said. "Did you see this?"

Chris' gaze bounced back and forth between Josh and the rock in his hand, and he nodded reluctantly. "Yeah."

"You saw that, and you didn't fucking do anything? Can't you like, reach into my dreams or some shit? Send me a brain wave? _Hey, asshole, you're eating a rock_?"

Chris looked away sheepishly. "You weren't really eating it. It was more like…gentle knawing. Perfectly safe."

"Holy shit," Josh sighed, and he threw the saliva-covered rock into the darkness, listening to it clatter against a nearby wall. His stomach felt like a cavern of its own, and Josh traced the sharp outline of his ribs, wishing he'd kept track of how long he was down here, and—more importantly—how long a person could survive without food. "This starvation thing is getting to be a real problem, bro," he said.

Chris propped himself on his elbow and looked at Josh with concern, but there was something else there, too. Determination, maybe. "You're not going to starve," Chris said. "Just stick with us. Listen to us."

Josh laughed dryly. "I don't really have a choice, do I? You're in my head."

Chris gave him a wry smile. "Right," he said. He made a face that Josh couldn't decipher, and Josh wondered if it was rude to remind a hallucination that it wasn't real.

"Sorry," Josh said. He decided to distract himself and stretched out his hand, holding it up against Chris' palm. Chris was generally bigger, but Josh had long, thin hands, and the tips of his fingers reached just beyond Chris'.

Josh's fingers were blackened with frostbite, and when he tried to link their fingers together, it didn't work. He stared at his hands—which looked even worse against Chris' pale white skin—and felt a flicker of jealousy. Chris didn't have to worry about cold or hunger or death. He might not be real, but at least he couldn't feel pain. _Just another perk of not existing_ , Josh thought. _The list keeps growing._

"It's a shame you can't actually keep me warm," Josh said softly. Chris and Hannah had been like guard dogs since they first appeared, and while they often sat on either of him while he slept, it wasn't unusual for Chris to lie beside him. Josh was confident that hallucinations didn't need sleep, in the same way they didn't need anything else, but Chris sometimes curled himself around Josh anyway—hands clasped together, one arm wrapped around Josh's thinning waist. Josh swore he felt warmer, but whatever his brain thought, the fact remained that hallucinatory snuggle buddies were not effective against biting winter air.

"Sorry," Chris said, and he did what Josh couldn't, threading his fingers between Josh's.

Josh looked Chris up and down, taking in his fluffy blue coat, green sweater, and God only knew how many layers underneath. Hannah and Chris had both appeared to him in the outfits they had worn to the party, and while Josh knew it was his brain that put them in those outfits, Josh felt like giving Chris shit for his anyway.

"It's funny," Josh said. "Even when you aren't affected by temperature, you still wear a shit-ton of layers." He reached for the zipper of Chris' jacket and played with it idly. "Doesn't really seem fair."

"I can change," Chris said, and Josh hardly had time to say "What?" before the zipper in his hands suddenly wasn't, and Chris was lying there in a white t-shirt and boxers with little pink hearts on them. (Josh had bought them for Chris as a joke, and then Chris unironically loved them.) The front of Chris' hair was even mussed, like it always was first thing in the morning, and the sight made Josh's stomach clench.

"What the fuck?" he said. He pulled himself away from Chris and sat up, folding in on himself.

"What?" Chris asked. He glanced down at his new outfit, looking hurt. "I thought you liked this one."

"I do, but…" Josh tried to pinpoint exactly what was unsettling him. He didn't have visual hallucinations that often, thank God—rarely enough that he could write it off as a side effect of his medication when he knew it wasn't—but every instance was so vivid. He remembered those visions perfectly, remembered the terrible things they said to him and the way he'd pleaded for them to stop. Never once had they listened, and yet here was Chris, doing Josh's bidding like he wanted to. It didn't make sense. "Since when do you guys take orders?" Josh asked.

Chris knew that Josh was talking about Hannah, too. "Since we're trying to keep you alive, dude," he said.

Josh took a breath, trying to let Chris' words sink into his bones and calm him down. They didn't.

"Since when do you care?" Josh spat. He sounded angry, but there was a tremor in his voice, too. His throat was hot and tight, and he tried to swallow past it. "Since when does anybody fucking care?"

"Hey," Chris said. He sat up, and Josh felt Chris' hand sliding up and down his back. "We do. We care."

Josh groaned, because that hurt whether it was true or not, and he looked at Chris. He tried to think of something that would end this conversation topic, but instead he found himself distracted by how warm and familiar Chris looked in those stupid clothes.

"I guess I never felt like I was in control before," Josh said absently.

"Is that all?" Chris asked. His blue eyes were probing now, and Josh couldn't meet them. Because Chris was right—it wasn't all. Something deeper was digging its way to the surface, something that was about more than heart boxers. It was about how Josh was probably never going to see Chris in them again; about how he was never going to sleep with Chris again or have sex with Chris again or do literally _anything_ with Chris, ever again. Tears pricked behind Josh's eyes, and he turned away.

"You're upset," Chris said. He cupped Josh's cheek in his hand and brought Josh's face back toward him. "Why are you upset? Look." He glanced down at himself, and in the blink of an eye, Chris was back in his winter gear. "All better."

Josh let out a breathy laugh. "Not really," he said. "Though I appreciate the effort." His hand found Chris' jacket again, and he burrowed underneath the layers until he reached Chris' shirt. He pressed his palm against Chris' chest, feeling the warmth of his body and the beat of his heart and knowing that none of it was really there.

"I miss you," Josh said. "The real you. This isn't the same."

Chris rested his hand on top of Josh's. "I'm only trying to be what you want," he said.

"I know. It's not your fault."

"It's not yours either."

Josh snorted. "That's debatable." He pulled away from Chris again and lay on his back. "The real you would get a kick out of this. All the shit I've been saying. I guess dying makes you pretty soft."

Josh knew Chris was going to say "stop" before he did, but this time Josh didn't bother arguing. He just stared at the darkness above him, watching specks of dust float lazily around his face. He blew gently and they dispersed into the blackness.

The only upside to being in the mines for this long was that the blackness wasn't so black anymore. Chris and Hannah were always clear as day—had been since the moment they showed up—but Josh's eyes had adjusted to his new environment. It made things easier to navigate, but it didn't make this less miserable.

"You know what pisses me off?" Josh asked.

"Where do you want me to start?" Chris joked, and Josh reached with his good arm to slap Chris playfully on the thigh.

"I'm serious, asshole. I was just thinking—I know this is the least of my problems, but sometimes I get a little fucking pissed that I'll never see light again."

When Chris didn't respond, Josh tried to explain himself further. "I'm not trying to be poetic here, it's more like…"

"You want what you can't have?" Chris supplied.

"Exactly," Josh said. "I want it purely because some higher power says I fucking can't. Even if I know I deserve this." He exhaled a frustrated sigh. "Maybe next time the monster comes around, I'll hop on its back and hitch a ride to the surface. Kick the shit out of it, watch the sunrise, and eat a goddamn cheeseburger."

Chris laughed and ran his fingers through Josh's curls. Josh closed his eyes and tilted his head into the touch, more grateful for tactile hallucinations than he ever thought he would be.

"That sounds like a solid plan," Chris said.

Josh hummed in agreement and then stopped. "No," he amended. "A double cheeseburger."

"Flawless."

"I know."

They giggled in a way that felt childish and perfect, and the silence that followed was comfortable. Chris rubbed small circles into Josh's scalp while Josh let his mind wander. He knew he should be getting his ass up and out of here— _get busy living or get busy dying_ —but he let himself have this moment. He tried to imagine he was lying in a bed, and the first one that came to mind was Chris'—his too-soft mattress and too-rough sheets. Josh had been a real asshole about those sheets, had asked, "Don't you know anything about thread count?" the first time he was in Chris' bed. Sam had nearly smacked him when he told her that part of the story, and with good reason—who gets invited to their boyfriend's bed and then bitches about their thread count? He still remembered her words: "Honestly, Josh, you're lucky that boy is so smitten. Anybody else would have kicked your ass out the door."

She'd been right on both counts, but the first especially. Josh had been _so_ goddamn lucky.

This wasn't where he wanted his mind to wander.

"Fuck," Josh said. He sat up, rubbing his burning eyes.

"What's up?" Chris asked.

"Nothing," Josh lied. He couldn't handle another heart-to-heart, not this soon. "I almost fell asleep again, that's all." He got to his feet, brushing dirt off himself even though his clothes had long been soiled beyond repair. "I'm going to go check on Hannah. Both of them. We should get going soon."

Chris looked at him suspiciously before nodding, and Josh left. Hannah's body was too far away to see, but Josh remembered where he put it. Even if he didn't, he could see Hannah—not-real Hannah—sitting next to it. She did that sometimes.

"Hey," Josh said as he approached. "What are you doing here all by your lonesome?" he asked. It was supposed to be a joke, but instead he just sounded tired. Hannah gave him a hollow smile.

"Seemed like a private conversation," she said, and there was a noticeable edge in her voice. Josh froze, taken aback. He wanted to say that private conversations didn't really matter if the conversation wasn't real in the first place, but that probably wasn't what Hannah wanted to hear. He didn't know _what_ she wanted to hear.

"I guess," he said dumbly. "Is something wrong?"

"You mean besides the fact that I'm dead and my body is rotting in an abandoned mine and no one's ever going to know what happened to me?" she asked.

" _I_ know," Josh said. _Not that it makes things any better._ "And I'm doing everything I can to keep you safe."

It was true. Josh's routine had two parts. 1. Dragging Hannah's body until his upper body strength gave out, at which point he tucked her somewhere safe, and 2. Exploring the mines with Hannah and Chris, leaving his usual trail of breadcrumbs so he could always find his way back to her. It would have been so much easier—so much _smarter_ —if he just left the body behind, but he couldn't do that. Not knowing all the ways he could've stopped this from happening, and certainly not after the monster.

"You seem to be spending an awful lot of time with Chris," Hannah noted, and the edge in her voice was back, full-force.

"Are you _jealous_?" Josh asked incredulously.

"Oh, _you're_ one to talk," Hannah scoffed. "Mr. I'm Going to Explode if Someone Even Looks at My Boyfriend the Wrong Way. _Yes_ , I'm jealous!" She barked a laugh that didn't sound like her at all and gestured to the body. "I mean, _look_ at me."

Josh looked. It wasn't a pretty sight.

He had thought (hoped) that if it were cold enough to freeze his fingers off, it'd be too cold for bugs, but apparently that wasn't the case. They'd started crawling over Hannah's body soon after Josh dug her back up, and Josh had wasted a lot of time pulling them off her. First it was a matter of hygiene—dragging her around, his one working arm wrapped around her chest, was hard enough without things worming underneath his sweater. Then it was a matter of principle—a matter of _don't fucking touch my sister_. Once Josh sat her next to a water hole, pulling maggots off one by one and tossing them into the water with soft plinks. He must have done it for nearly an hour before Chris and Hannah pulled him away.

This was before his fingers went to shit. Now, he and the bugs were forced to coexist. Josh watched one crawl out of her mouth and winced.

"And look at _you_ ," Hannah said. Her gaze roamed up and down Josh's thin frame. "You're losing strength. Soon you'll be desperate. Soon you'll want to leave me. Especially if you have him."

She wrapped her arms around her legs, curling in on herself the same way Josh did when he was upset. People always thought Josh and Hannah were opposites, but they weren't, really. Not in the ways that mattered.

Josh sat down in front of his sister, listening to her sniffle softly. "Hannah," he said firmly. "I said I wasn't leaving you, and I meant it."

"You always say shit, Josh," she said. "How do I know it's true?"

Josh held up his hand, and when his fingers still refused to cooperate, he said, "Pinky promise. You're going to have to do the work for me, though."

Hannah huffed a small laugh and uncurled herself just enough to wrap her pinky around Josh's.

"You have to promise me," she said. "Promise me you'll always keep me with you. No matter what happens."

She looked at him imploringly. Josh didn't hesitate. "I promise."

"Good," she said, and smiled.

It felt like an accomplishment.

* * *

Chris didn't want to answer the door. It was late enough that he could pretend to be sleeping (he _should_ have been sleeping), but the knocking was loud and insistent. His heart lifted against all logic, and he wondered if there was any way this could be good news.

Then Sam's worried voice came through the door, and Chris knew it wasn't.

"Chris? Are you in there?"

The wave of guilt was immediate. Chris had seen Sam's note at least 24 hours ago now and he hadn't contacted her. His hand went to the paper, still in the pocket of the hoodie he was _still_ wearing, and he crumpled it anxiously before hopping off the bed.

He opened the door with an explanation on his lips, but Sam didn't give him a second. "Have you heard from Beth?" she asked.

"Uh, not since yesterday," Chris said, a bit thrown. His guilt amplified, because he probably should have called her, too. Their conversation was nothing short of an invitation: _Reach out to me, please._ And Chris hadn't.

His phone rang just then, and Chris turned to see it light up on his bed. "Get it," Sam urged, and Chris backtracked, looking at the caller ID just long enough to read WASHINGTON LODGE before picking up.

"Hey," he said.

Beth was crying. "Chris, I am such a jerk."

"I…disagree?" Chris said. "I'm gonna need some more context here, Beth."

Chris heard something that sounded like a sob, and Sam grabbed the phone from his hand. "Hey, B," she said, and Chris marveled at how easily her voice softened. It was an enviable skill. "It's Sam. I'm with Chris." She paused and then laughed a little. "I know, I'm fast. Look, why don't you get some sleep, okay? I'll talk to Chris, and then we can all reconvene in the morning. Does that sound good?"

Beth said some things that Chris couldn't hear, and Chris listened to Sam's reassuring _mmhmm_ 's and _I know_ 's as Chris waited for the imminent news: _They found the bodies_. Chris wasn't sure how that made Beth a jerk, but he couldn't think of another reason why she would be so upset.

By the time Sam coaxed Beth off the phone, Chris' stomach was churning. Sam pressed the "end" button and stared at the screen, worrying her bottom lip. "That girl's going to be up all night," she said, almost to herself, and Chris couldn't be patient any longer.

"Did they find them?" Chris asked. "Are they—"

Sam jerked her head up like she'd forgotten he was there, and her eyes widened. "Oh, no. Oh God, Chris, _no_. Mr. Washington—I guess there was a cave-in while they were searching, and he was trapped."

Chris' knees wobbled and he sank onto his bed. "Holy shit."

"He's alive," Sam said hurriedly. "Broken legs, but they got him out. I guess someone from the search party went missing though, and they can't get any useful information out of Mr. Washington. He's going on about… Well, he's in shock."

Chris didn't know what to say. No wonder Beth felt terrible. She'd been fighting with her dad since Josh and Hannah went missing, and now he was hurt—almost killed. Chris supposed this was better than Josh and Hannah's bodies being found, but Jesus—how many more hits could the Washington family take?

Sam stood in front of him, fidgeting nervously. "I'm sorry. Beth contacted me first, and I know I should've just called you instead of sprinting over here, but I feel like I've been alone since everything happened and I'm…" Chris thought he heard her voice waver, but then it steadied again, and she smiled weakly. "I've been better."

Chris tugged on the hoodie he was wearing. "Join the club."

Sam looked at it and sighed Chris' name, so low it was almost inaudible. She put her hand on his shoulder, and Chris couldn't believe how nice it felt, how much he needed that. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Sam's waist, burying his face in her shirt. Her hands came to rest in his hair, and for a moment they were silent.

Finally Sam said, "You look so stupid in that," and they let out the kind of laugh that was half-crying.

"I'm sorry I didn't text you back," Chris said. He pulled away to extract the wrinkled paper from his pocket and held it up in shame. "Or respond to your note."

Sam laughed again, wiping the corner of her eye. "It's fine. I knew you probably wanted to be alone, it's just…" She shrugged. "I didn't."

"I'm sorry," Chris said again.

"It's okay," she said, and then looked at him sheepishly. "But is there any chance you want to make it up to me by driving me to the airport on Monday?"

Chris blinked at the sudden topic change. "What?"

"Well, assuming I can get a plane ticket," Sam clarified. She bit her bottom lip again, looking at Chris for approval, but Chris' brain wasn't computing. Eventually she huffed and blurted, "I want to go back to the lodge."

Chris didn't know what was more surprising: the news about Mr. Washington or this.

"Are you serious, Sam?" he asked. "Josh and Hannah just went missing there."

"I know," Sam said. "I _know_. But I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I sort of regretted coming back at all, and now with Mr. Washington… It just feels like the right thing to do. For Beth."

Sam sounded a little bit like she was convincing herself, and Chris knew that was because she never made decisions like this—impulsively, with her heart instead of her head. It'd take… Well, it would take something like this.

"I don't want to impose, but you're the only one with a car," she said. "Besides Mike. And I'm not asking Mike."

Chris snorted at the thought, letting Sam's idea simmer in his mind. It was more than a little rash, but Chris wondered if it could really be worse than sitting in this room full of Josh's ghost. Plus, there was that feeling—that irrational itch under Chris' skin that something wasn't right. That he was _missing_ something. Maybe going back to the lodge would help him find it.

Sam must've read his expression, because the next words out of her mouth were, "You can come, too. If you want."

Chris glanced at the bag on his floor, still packed from the last time he went. He didn't have the money for a last-minute flight, and his parents were _definitely_ going to kill him, but Chris wasn't that bothered. In fact, he was feeling lighter by the second.

"You know what?" he said. "Fuck it. I think I do."

Sam beamed. "I knew I could count on you."

They spent the rest of the night talking logistics, forcing themselves not to buy tickets until they could talk to Beth again. They were sure she'd be okay with it, but still—they weren't _that_ impulsive. Chris felt pleasantly buzzed from this new sense of purpose, and it was well past midnight when their conversation tapered off. He didn't have the heart to kick Sam out, and she didn't seem keen on leaving, so he let her take his bed; unable to touch Josh's, he laid a sleeping bag on the floor next to her. Sam's arm hung over the side of the bed, and when sleep eluded him, Chris brushed her fingers lightly.

"You still awake?" he whispered.

Sam's response was immediate. "Yeah."

"Me too," Chris said. They were quiet for a little while longer before something occurred to Chris. "How did you get into my building?"

A beat of silence, and then: "I crawled in through a window."

"I really thought you were going to say you waited for someone to let you in."

"Nope."

"You're turning into one crazy chick, Sammy."

She laughed softly. "As they say. Desperate times."

Chris squeezed Sam's fingers before letting his hand drop. He listened to her gentle breathing and stared up at the ceiling.

Right. Desperate times.


	6. Chapter 6

For once, Josh felt like he knew what he was doing.

"We're going this way," he said, jerking his chin to the right. "This way" was a vague direction, the beginning of a long tunnel that might lead to another dead end, but it might also lead to the cave-in. Which might lead to something else. Josh would take anything at this point.

He hoisted Hannah's body closer to his chest, trying to ignore the way her hair tickled his chin and the smell that rose up from her skin. It would've made him throw up, if there were anything in his stomach besides dirty water. Instead, it just reminded him how hungry he was. It was an unsettling leap for his brain to make, but Josh tried not to think about that. He tried not to think about anything but getting out of here before it was too late, and right now, that cave-in was the only lead he had. The only _hope_ he had.

 _That's fucking sad._

Realizing Chris and Hannah hadn't responded, Josh pulled himself out of his thoughts. He turned around, his mind already spewing unhelpful things like _they left you_ and _you're alone_. He nearly sighed with relief when he found them standing just a few feet behind him. Silent, but there.

"Well?" Josh prompted. His arm was already starting to shake with the weight of Hannah's body, and he tried to smile through it. "Ain't got all night."

"Actually, we do," Chris replied, half-joking. Josh wanted to say, _What I meant is I don't have all night because I'm probably going to collapse_ , but he swallowed the words and laughed.

"Fair point, Christopher," he said. "Seriously, let's go."

He'd barely taken a step when Hannah called his name. Her voice was small and timid, and when Josh looked back again, she was pointing toward another tunnel, off to the left. "I think we should go that way," she said.

Josh sighed and let the body slump to the floor. He didn't want this to be a discussion. He wanted to get moving now that he finally had somewhere to go, but Hannah and Chris had been nothing but good to him. He felt obligated to listen.

"Yeah?" Josh said. He stepped toward the tunnel to get a better look and noticed the way it veered off at the end of his vision, starting to twist in on itself before it disappeared into the darkness. Josh couldn't be sure unless he went down the rabbit hole himself, but it seemed like that path would eventually loop them back where they'd come from.

Hannah had come up beside him, looking at him hopefully, and Josh gave her glasses a playful tap. "Gotta get your eyes checked, girly," he said. "That'll take us in circles."

She shrugged and said, a bit defensively, "Maybe not."

"What about this way?" Chris supplied, pointing toward a different tunnel. It looked more promising than Hannah's—it wouldn't take them backwards, at least—but it wasn't where Josh wanted to go. The cave-in had sounded directly behind them, and only one path led in that direction.

"I don't know, dude," Josh said. "I think we should take my route. If it goes nowhere, we can always double back."

Chris narrowed his eyes. "Why are you so set on this?" he asked. Josh fidgeted in response, suddenly feeling like he shouldn't give himself away. Even more surprising than this impulse to cover up, he was fumbling for words, withering under Chris' gaze.

The lie was on the tip of Josh's tongue when Chris figured him out.

"The cave-in," he said. "You want to find it."

It wasn't a question, so Josh didn't answer. Chris laughed softly, though he didn't sound particularly amused. "Didn't we tell you it was nothing?" he asked. "Didn't you _say_ it was nothing?"

Josh was positively squirming now, unused to facing any resistance from Chris (even if this wasn't really Chris). Josh was nothing if not determined, though. It was a Washington family trait, for better or worse.

"I did, but—don't you think it's worth checking out?"

"No," Chris said firmly. "I don't. Not if you risk triggering another. You could get hurt. Trapped. You could _die_."

"What are my other options, Chris?" Josh asked. "Starving and dying? Getting eaten by a monster and dying? Excuse me if I don't really feel like I have much to lose here."

Chris let out a frustrated sigh but didn't say anything, and a heavy silence descended over the three of them. Hannah gave him a pleading look, a look that said _fix this_ , and now it was Josh's turn to sigh.

"Look, I don't mean to get up in arms about this. It's just—I'm running out of time. You both know that. I know you do." Chris and Hannah exchanged a glance that Josh wished he hadn't seen, and Josh forced himself to continue. "This is, as dumb as it sounds, the only shot I have. Can't you just…indulge me?"

Chris' eyes flashed at his words, and Josh instinctively braced himself for a verbal blow. He should've known this was coming, should've known his mind wouldn't play nice forever. But then Chris looked him over and his expression softened.

"I just don't understand, Josh," he said. "You've always followed our lead. We've gotten you this far. And now, what—you don't trust us?"

"Of course I trust you," Josh said, but guilt was already starting to pool heavy in his gut. Chris was right: Josh had always listened to their suggestions, taken their routes, figuring it was the same as listening to his instinct. Except now his instinct was telling him something different.

"Then _listen_ to us," Chris said. He stepped up to Josh, placing his hands firmly on Josh's shoulders. "We've told you: Listen to us and you'll be fine."

"You haven't exactly gotten me out of here, have you?" Josh said. He meant to turn it into a joke, but his laugh was nervous and high-pitched. Chris' mouth set in a hard line, and his hands felt impossibly heavy. It made Josh uncomfortable.

"These are complex mines," Chris said. "You're coming to know that better than anyone."

"That's…true enough," Josh conceded. He wormed his way out of Chris' grasp and looked at Hannah for support. She shrugged helplessly.

"We want what's best for you," she said. "We're only trying to help you get there."

"I know," Josh said, surprised at how quickly the words came out of his mouth and how much he meant them. It scared him a little, how much he cared for these things that were only real in his head. It almost made him want to agree with Chris, but Washingtons weren't just determined; they were stubborn. Instead he said, "I'm still going my way, though."

Josh leaned down to pick up Hannah's body, pointedly ignoring Chris and Hannah's gazes. He couldn't help the grunt that escaped his lips as he lifted her, and he was only partially upright when his head started to feel fuzzy. He stumbled, grateful that he was still near a wall, and then lost his balance completely. His shoulder banged hard against the rock and pain ricocheted down his injured arm. Josh was sure that if he could actually feel his fingers, those would've hurt too.

"Damn it," he cursed, his voice sounding far away in his own ears. He felt a hand on his back.

"Are you alright?" Hannah asked.

"Peachy," Josh grumbled.

"Are you sure? Maybe you should—"

"I'm _fine_ ," Josh snapped, and he almost laughed at what a big fat lie that was. Wanting to die and experiencing a slow, painful death were turning out to be two very different things, and Josh was not fine. Josh was scared. He was a scared kid with a dead sister, and he desperately wanted to go home.

Thankfully, fear was a good motivator. He waited for his head to clear and slowly pulled himself up, taking a deep breath when he managed to right himself. "I'm fine," he said again, more to himself than Chris or Hannah. "And I'm _going_. Now. You can come or not. Doesn't matter to me."

Another lie. Josh wanted them to come—wanted their company and their comfort, even if they didn't always feel right, not quite like the Chris and Hannah he knew. If Josh had the luxury of food and water and time, he might've given it a little more thought, but right now he didn't have anything besides an empty stomach and a slowly decomposing corpse. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

Chris gave him a skeptical look and then smirked, like he knew Josh was lying. "You'll have to try harder if you want to get rid of us," he said cheekily.

Hannah looped an arm through Chris' and nodded in agreement. "Much harder," she said.

Josh nodded dumbly, feeling relieved that this—whatever the hell it was—was resolved. For now, at least. His gut still felt heavy, though he wasn't sure it was guilt anymore, and he pulled Hannah's body closer. He looked from Chris to Hannah like he was waiting for a signal.

Chris' smiled widened, and he gestured down the path that Josh had chosen. "We're right behind you, bro."

* * *

Chris woke up to the sound of his door closing softly, and for a second he thought Sam was leaving. Then he heard her voice and realized she was on the phone with Beth. Her words were muffled, but he tried to block them out anyway, not wanting to listen in on their personal conversation.

He stretched languidly, mumbling a soft "yikes" as his back cracked, muscles aching after a night on the floor. He shuffled to his knees to reach for his glasses and found himself crawling into bed instead, pulling the covers over his shoulders and nuzzling into the pillow. It smelled earthy with a hint of mint—one of Sam's organic shampoos, no doubt—and Chris was already passed out when the door opened again.

"Well, that's just rude," Sam huffed, and Chris gave her a slurred slush. She sat on the edge of his bed, and there was a bit of rustling before Chris heard the unmistakable sound of typing.

"Are you on my laptop?" he asked, poking his head up so fast his head spun a little.

"I'm buying us plane tickets," she said. She looked like a blurry lump at the end of his bed, and this time Chris really did grab his glasses, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before putting them on.

"It's password protected," he said. "You won't be able to—" He cut himself off when he glimpsed the screen and saw that she was already on the Internet.

Sam gave him a guilty shrug. "Josh told me the password once," she said.

"How does _Josh_ know the password?" he asked incredulously, and Sam shrugged again, though a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"I hate to break it to you, Chris, but you're not exactly hard to read."

Chris flopped backwards, his head landing on the pillow. "I am dark and mysterious," he said. "No one knows my secrets."

Sam snorted a laugh and continued browsing.

"So Beth is cool with us coming then?" Chris asked.

Sam nodded. "She seemed really happy about it."

Chris felt happy about their decision too, even in the light of day, and that kind of surprised him. He'd expected to wake up with a thousand trepidations. There _was_ something bugging him, though, something so inane that he wanted to dismiss it for the stupid thing it was. But it ate at him as they sat there in silence, and when Sam didn't say anything more about Beth's feelings, Chris had to ask. "She doesn't mind that I'm coming too?"

Sam blinked, turning away from the screen to look at him. "No?" she said. "Why would she mind?"

"I don't know." Chris averted his eyes, biting nervously at his lip. "I just don't want a pity invite, that's all."

Sam gave him a warm smile, and Chris forced himself to meet her gaze. "Chris," she said. "Beth wants you to come because she wants you there for her. Not because she feels bad for you. Okay?"

Chris nodded. "You don't think I'll be a third wheel?" he asked after a minute.

Sam laughed, reaching over to give Chris a reassuring pat on the leg. "We're open to three-person cuddle parties. Don't worry."

Chris nudged her playfully with his foot, and they exchanged goofy smiles before Sam's expression fell a bit. "I have one piece of bad news, though," she said. Chris raised an eyebrow expectantly and she sighed a little. "Since you're coming with me, we _do_ need that ride from Mike."

Chris cursed softly. "Well, he'll do it. That's for sure."

Sam turned away from the screen again, looking at him suspiciously. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh," Chris said, a bit surprised that Sam hadn't found out. "We sort of had a…kerfuffle the other day." Her eyes widened, and Chris held up his hands reassuringly. "We didn't fight. Jeez, I'm still _standing_ , aren't I? He just tried to apologize, said some shit, it was awkward. You know."

Sam's face fell. "I don't, actually."

"Oh," Chris said again. _Well, that would explain it._

"We haven't talked since…you know." She looked down at her hands with a guilty expression. "He's sent me a few texts, called me a couple times, but I haven't responded."

"Ouch," Chris said. "Sammy doesn't take any shit."

Sam laughed weakly, and Chris sat up again. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "I'm sorry," he said seriously. "I know you guys were close."

She breathed a quiet "yeah" and then said, "It's not just that, though. I'm mad at him and that sucks, but part of me wonders if I'm being a self-entitled jerk. Aren't I to blame too? I knew about the prank and I told them it was a terrible idea, but if I felt that strongly, couldn't I have _made_ them stop? Couldn't I have done something more?" She ran her hands over her face, groaning a little. Clearly this wasn't the first time she'd thought about this. "Then when we were outside and I told you not to go after Josh and Hannah… What if that was the wrong decision? What if you could've found them?"

"Sam, have you _seen_ me? Have you looked at all this?" Chris gestured to himself. "I'm pretty sure I could not have found them. You made the right call. I just didn't want to admit it."

Sam gave him a halfhearted shrug, and Chris continued: "We all made shitty decisions that night. We all could have done more. I could have been less drunk. Em could've been less jealous. Matt could've at _least_ not had a selfie stick..."

Sam made a small noise of amusement and bumped her shoulder against his. "Stop," she chided.

"What I'm trying to say is, we're all guilty in some way, and we need to acknowledge that guilt. But thinking about all the ways things could've gone differently… That's no way to move forward, Sam."

"I know," she said. She leaned against him and looked at the laptop still sitting on her legs. On the screen were their tickets, waiting to be purchased. Sam—a rugged traveler when she wasn't stuck on campus—knew the cheap airlines and the good deals, but there was no getting around the fact that they were flying out of the country on barely 24-hour's notice. The price made Chris' stomach flip a little, but it didn't make him change his mind. Not even close.

Sam looked at him for confirmation. "In the spirit of moving forward?" she asked.

"In the spirit of moving forward," he agreed.

The tickets were theirs.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind. Sam called Beth to let her know that they were officially coming, and then they called their parents, making wild, terrified faces at each other as their parents berated them for poor decision-making skills. Beth's parents were fine with it, which was a point of leverage, but still not enough to convince. Luckily, Chris and Sam didn't needto convince. They were both legal adults, and it was _their_ money. Short of physical restraint, nothing could stop them from leaving.

When that was done, they emailed their professors, explaining their indefinite leave of absence. It made Chris feel like an unequivocal badass. First skipping class, and now skipping the country? What _couldn't_ he do?

The last person to contact was Mike. Sam didn't ask if Chris could be the one to call, but one sad, doe-eyed look and she didn't have to. Chris shooed her away to pack her things and told her he'd take care of it. She gave him a grateful hug and scampered off.

Mike's phone rang for a while, and Chris was about to hang up when Mike's voice came through.

"Hey."

"Hey," Chris said. This was awkward. He didn't normally talk on the phone with Mike, and now there was this…tension. Chris wished it would just go away.

"What's up?" Mike asked.

"I need a favor," Chris said, and then rephrased. " _Sam_ and I need a favor."

Mike was quiet for a minute, and Chris didn't know him well enough to know what that meant. When he responded, his answer was simple.

"Okay."

* * *

They met outside Sam's dorm. Sam had sent Chris a million texts beforehand, telling him—in as many ways as it was possible to say and then some— _not_ to be late. "Don't want to miss our flight!" she'd written, but Chris knew she also meant _don't want to be alone with Mike!_

So Chris was early, sitting on the curb with an elbow resting on his suitcase when Mike pulled into the parking lot. His car was as small and shitty as Chris', and he rolled to a stop in front of Chris, lowering the passenger window.

"You can put your stuff in the trunk," he said. He glanced toward the door of the building and asked, "Is Sam ready?"

Chris nodded. "She'll be out in a second." He moved around to the back of the car and hoisted his suitcase into the trunk, taking an extra minute to shoot Sam a quick text, just in case she was lurking inside until she knew Mike and Chris were both there.

Judging by the way she flew out the door as soon as he hit "send," that was probably a fair assessment.

Mike hopped out of the car the second she appeared, offering to take her suitcase. Sam mumbled, "I got it," and did it herself, and Mike looked crestfallen. It would have been funny if everything weren't so terrible.

Sam slid into the backseat without another word, and Mike gave Chris a pleading, nervous look. Chris just shrugged and got in the passenger seat.

No one said anything for a while, and Mike passed the time flipping through radio stations, too picky or restless to stick with one for more than a few songs. He tapped his hands on the steering wheel to a completely different beat, casting glances in the rearview mirror. Chris raised an eyebrow once, and Mike said, "Crazy California drivers." They both knew he was bullshitting.

Finally Mike gave the wheel a particularly hard squeeze and said, "Did your parents freak the fuck out when you told them you were going back?"

"Did your parents freak the fuck out when you told them how _all this shit happened_?" Sam snapped, and Mike looked in the rearview again.

"Sammy," he said quietly. One of his hands curled into a fist, and he shook his head. "I didn't want to do it like this."

"Do what?" Sam asked.

"Apologize," Mike said. "I want to apologize. I texted you—"

"And I didn't answer."

Sam said the words with such finality, and Mike looked like he'd been hit. The tension was so palpable that Chris was scared to breathe. He stared at the passing cars, pretending like he couldn't hear any of this.

After a minute, Chris thought they were done. Then Mike let out a shaky breath and said, "I miss you, Sam."

Chris glanced in the mirror quick enough to see Sam's chin quiver before she covered her mouth with her hand. "Yeah," she said, "and I miss Hannah. I miss her good mornings texts and her calls. I miss the way she sometimes snorted when she laughed too hard and the way she always saw the best in people. She saw the best in _you_ , Mike. She liked you for years, and I thought she could do so much better, but she insisted that there was something there. Something that made you worth all this stupid heartache. She was so convincing—so _genuine_ —I almost believed her. I gotta tell you, I really hate being right."

Mike's mouth opened and closed. "Sorry to disappoint," he said eventually.

They were silent for the rest of the ride.

When they pulled into the airport's drop-off area, Mike got out again. This time, Sam let him lift her suitcase. Chris got his own and looked at Mike sympathetically.

"Thanks, man," he said, reaching over to give Mike an awkward pat on the arm.

Mike shrugged, looking even more beat than he had during their conversation the other day. "Anytime," he said. "Let me know when you guys are coming back. I can give you a lift back to campus."

Chris nodded, and Sam fiddled with the handle of her suitcase, glancing at Mike nervously. "You know, I'm probably not going to be mad at you forever," she said. "I just…need time."

"So I can take some fucking responsibility?" Mike said, echoing Sam's words from the night of the prank.

Sam laughed a little. "Exactly."

"That's fair enough," Mike said, smiling sadly. He reached out an arm like he was going to hug her, but then he seemed to think better of it. His hand settled on her shoulder. "I hope someone finds them."

"You and me both, Mikey," she said, and she gave his hand the briefest squeeze before stepping back. "Drive safely. And thank you."

He saluted the both of them and got back in the car, honking the horn as he left. Chris wanted to ask Sam if she was okay, but she was already walking determinedly toward the airport, motioning with her free hand for Chris to follow. He did, and they went through check-in and security without a word to each other. They grabbed seats in their boarding area, and Sam went to find a bathroom, leaving Chris alone.

Chris stared at the people sitting around him. He didn't fly a lot—the little money he had went toward to their yearly lodge trips—but whenever he did, he was always curious about everyone's reasons for traveling. Sometimes, if he couldn't get a seat next to one of his friends and he was feeling particularly brave, he struck up a conversation with the person next to him. He wondered what would happen if he approached someone and said, "I'm going to Canada because my boyfriend and his sister went missing on a remote mountain. What about you?"

 _Remote._ That reminded him. He wouldn't have any service at the lodge. Chris disliked being devoid of service at the best of times, but now—now it felt like a lifeline. He dug his phone out of his pocket and opened Messenger.

 **Mon., Feb. 17, 2:53 p.m.**

hey

i'm sorry i haven't written in a few days

feels like longer, but i think that's bc so much shit has happened

mike said he was sorry (you would have laughed, or punched him, or punched him while laughing)

your dad got hurt (he was looking for you, but that's not your fault)

sam and i are going back to the lodge (the optimist in me still thinks you'll be found, and i want to be there when it happens)

so until our happy, tearful reunion (don't tell me you wouldn't cry)

i guess this is it

see you on the other side, bro (i love you)


	7. Chapter 7

The mountain was dark by the time Chris and Sam trudged up it, and Chris was pretty sure he'd die if he carried his suitcase any longer. There was too much snow to roll it behind him, so he and Sam had been forced to carry their belongings the whole way.

Sam was fine. Chris was not.

"Okay, you gotta—you gotta give me one second, Sammy," Chris said. He let his suitcase fall into the snow and then fell into it himself, not caring that his jeans would soak through. He pulled up his fluffy hood and lay back. The cold might kill him, but at least it would numb the pain.

"The lodge is literally right there," Sam huffed. She gestured toward the lights that were already visible through the thinning trees.

Chris tilted his head back to gauge the distance and waved his hand. "Just leave me," he decided. "I never stood a chance. I'm too soft for this world, too pure."

"This isn't the time for memes, Christopher."

"It's always the time for memes, Samantha."

Someone shouted Sam's name, and they both looked ahead to see Beth running toward them. Sam dropped her suitcase and met her halfway, spinning Beth in a fierce hug. Chris averted his eyes as they kissed, staring up at the sky. He rarely found himself stargazing, but now that he didn't know where else to look, he noticed the sky was brimming with them. It was nothing like the L.A. smog he was used to, and he kind of wished that he and Josh had appreciated it more. Sometimes he couldn't believe the last thing he did with his now-missing boyfriend was get wasted. If anyone found Josh—if _he_ found Josh—Chris was going to sit his ass down and make him watch the stars. At least for a little while.

Footsteps crunched in the snow behind him, and a moment later Beth's face hovered above his. She tilted her head and looked at him with a bemused expression.

"We have spare beds in the lodge, you know," she said.

"You know me," Chris said. "I'm an outdoorsy type." He flashed her a cheesy thumbs-up and reached for a handful of snow with his other hand. He tossed it up, but the poorly made ball fell apart well before Beth's face, and its remains sprinkled over Chris' instead. He sputtered, snow melting in his mouth, and Beth laughed. She held out her hand and Chris let her pull him to his feet. His knees wobbled a little, and he might have stumbled if Beth didn't wrap her arms around his middle, squeezing him tightly.

"I'm really glad you're here," she said. Chris looked over Beth's head to see Sam grinning at them, and Chris didn't care if Sam had told Beth about his silly anxieties. He was here, and Beth was happy, and that was enough. For now.

Beth pulled away shivering, and Chris realized she'd run outside without a coat. He slid his jacket off and draped it over her shoulders. She smiled gratefully and slipped her arms in; it fit her like a dress, the bottom falling just above her knees, and she tugged the sleeves so her hands came through.

"Here, let me grab this for you," she said, leaning over to lift his suitcase. Chris opened his mouth to protest, but then she lifted it with such ease that he could only stare in awe.

"Damn," he said. "That's impressive."

"That's my girl," Sam said, picking up her belongings again. Beth gave a casual shrug, and they started trekking toward the lodge.

"It's nothing, really," she said. "Besides, I'm just trying to protect Chris' baby bird bones."

Sam laughed sharply, and the sound echoed around them, bouncing off the trees and into the darkness. Chris balked at the insult.

"Since when was that a thing?" he demanded.

"Uh, since that time we were playing soccer in gym, and you kicked someone's leg instead of the ball and broke your toe?" Beth suggested.

"I was going for the _goal_ ," Chris shouted. "You have to kick hard when you're going for the goal!"

"Oh my god," Sam said, "and then the gym teacher thought you were trying to get out of class, so she made you get a note from the school nurse _and_ a doctor, just to be sure."

"Then there was that time Josh coerced you into rock climbing, and you slipped and fractured your arm when the rope bumped you against the wall."

"Pretty sure it was more than a bump," Chris grumbled, but Sam and Beth couldn't hear him over their giggles. He let them have their fun, listening to them recount his various injuries (of which there were quite a lot, now that he thought about it). They hadn't even gotten through them all when they reached the door.

The lodge was dimly lit and eerily quiet, and their conversation died as soon as they stepped over the threshold. Sam and Chris exchanged glances without meaning to, and Chris knew she felt the same way. It was like they'd been gone forever and never left at the same time, and in that impossible space, the lodge had changed. It was unfamiliar now, a strange beast with old skin, trying to trick them into believing they knew what it was. Chris shuddered and bit his lip to keep from saying something. He thought it'd be easier for Beth to stay away from the real world—thought it'd be easier for him, too—but this was definitely worse.

"Home sweet home," Beth said dryly. She gestured to the empty rooms around them. "Dad's still at the hospital. Mom's sleeping. She does that a lot these days. Kinda wish I had the same problem."

Sam looked at her sympathetically, and Beth waved away the words before they left her mouth. "Sorry," Beth said. "I didn't mean to—whatever." She turned to them with a smile that Chris could tell was fake. "You guys want hot chocolate?"

Chris glanced at the clock, surprised to find that it was barely past 9 p.m. His eyelids were already heavy, and all he really wanted to do was find the nearest bed and fall into it. Sam looked exhausted too—traveling did that, even to the toughest people—but she nodded enthusiastically. Beth grinned, a little more real. "Perfect," she chirped.

Chris and Sam changed into pajamas, leaving their suitcases open on the floor, and the three of them sat at the kitchen island, mugs steaming in front of them. None of them seemed to know what to say, and Chris listened to the lodge creak and groan. He fought the urge to look over his shoulder.

Finally Beth asked, "Do you guys like this place?"

Sam gave her quizzical look. "Do we like it?"

Beth shrugged, staring into her hot chocolate as it swirled. "I don't know. All this stuff—Josh and Hannah going missing, even though Josh was—" She realized her mistake and faltered. " _Is_. Even though Josh is—so fucking smart." Her voice cracked, and she paused to regain composure. "Now this search and rescue person goes missing, and there's all this blood and no body—I mean, no body _anywhere_ —and my dad is apparently spewing crazy shit? I'm not—I don't even know what I'm saying, but…did you guys ever feel unsafe here? Like there was something wrong, and you couldn't put your finger on it?"

Chris and Sam looked at each other again, trying to decide how honest to be. Sam answered first, sounding like she was choosing her words carefully. "It's…not the homiest place I've ever been in, I guess. Desolate mountains are creepy; giant, mostly unused lodges are creepy." She reached over and put a hand on Beth's. "But I've always associated this place with you. With good things."

Beth smiled a little, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Thanks, Romeo," she quipped. She looked at Chris.

"I'm scared of literally everything," Chris said. "I'm probably not the person you should ask about this."

Beth's smile widened, and she dropped her forehead onto the table. "God, listen to me. Serious shit is happening, and part of me is like, 'Could it be a _ghost_?'" She said the word "ghost" long and low, and then laughed at herself. "What is this, Scooby-Doo?"

"If it is, I'm totally the dog," Chris said. "Mostly because he eats a lot."

Sam and Beth both chuckled, and Chris added, "See? You're not denying it." They fell quiet, and when Beth looked up at them, her eyes were somewhere else. Chris rested his hand on top of theirs. "Hey," he said. "Whatever it is, we can figure it out. Okay?"

Beth seemed to come back to them, and she nodded. "Okay."

They sat there for a little while longer, sipping their hot chocolate underneath the only light on in the entire lodge. Chris was nodding off by the time they finished, and Beth suggested they go to bed, even though she was clearly wide-awake. They started lugging their suitcases upstairs—Beth helping Chris so his didn't thump loudly against the wood—and Beth paused halfway up.

"You know it's fine if you sleep in Josh's room, right?" she said. "He wouldn't mind."

"I know," Chris said. He'd thought about that on the plane while he was mindlessly playing games on his phone; he'd wondered if he was brave (or stupid) enough to subject himself to that kind of emotional turmoil.

As it turned out, he was. He bade Sam and Beth goodnight, watching Beth tug Sam into the twins' room, and he wandered toward Josh's door. It still had "CAUTION" and "KEEP OUT" signs from Josh's angsty preteen phase, and Chris let out a faint laugh at the memories. The laugh turned into a groan, and then he mumbled, "fuck it," and opened the door.

Josh's room was exactly how they'd left it that morning: bed unmade (again), clothes thrown over furniture and scattered on the floor. Chris inspected a pile and realized they were mostly his—shirts and sweaters and sweatpants that Josh had stolen over the years—and he felt like an idiot for bringing all the clothes he had. There was an entire wardrobe here already.

Josh's walls were painted a deep blue, though it was hard to see underneath all the movie and video game posters. His desk was covered in notebooks and loose paper, filled with scribbles and sketches. Josh was a great artist, something Chris had known since he peeked over Josh's shoulder in third grade and nearly yelled "Dude!" in front of their entire class. Hannah's tattoo had been Josh's design, but aside from the twins, none of their friends knew about Josh's talent.

Above the desk was a corkboard stuffed with pictures—Josh and the twins, Josh and Sam, Josh and Chris. _Lots_ of Josh and Chris. Some went way back, and Chris found himself squinting at a picture of him and Josh in the lake. Josh sat on Chris' shoulders, arms raised in triumph, and Chris' smile was pained. He remembered this moment perfectly, remembered how Josh's mom had just finished snapping the photo when Chris lost his balance, and Josh went tumbling face-first into the water. He eyed a photo of him and Josh at their high school prom: Josh had his arm thrown proudly over Chris' shoulder, and he was kissing Chris' cheek. Chris' face was scrunched, trying—and failing—to look disgusted. Both their parents had wanted a "nice" photo, and this was the best they'd given. Chris was pretty sure there was one of Josh dipping him, but he scanned the rest of the photos and couldn't find it.

He made his way to Josh's bed. It was big enough that Chris and Josh could sprawl out comfortably, usually half-on top of each other. Chris had always loved Josh's beds, at his house or the lodge—it was like sleeping on a cloud compared to his, and he had a tendency to pass out the second he hit the mattress.

He turned off the light and crawled under the covers, pulling them up to his chin. Everything smelled like Josh—like the hoodie, but ten times stronger—and Chris made a half-assed effort to breathe through his mouth. It lasted a minute before he gave up. If he didn't want to be in this bed, he wouldn't have opened the door.

Chris rolled onto his side and squeezed his eyes shut. They were burning with exhaustion, and he lay in wait for the soft mattress to work its magic.

It took him hours to fall asleep.

* * *

"Sorry I didn't last long," Josh said. He tucked Hannah's body into a secluded corner and peeked over his shoulder at Chris. "Don't fucking joke."

"I wouldn't dare," Chris said. He smiled down at Josh, and Josh returned it through his panting. He was eager for things to go back to normal—whatever this normal was—and he was glad Chris was taking the bait. His legs trembled, and he dropped to his knees before sitting down completely, leaning back against the rock wall. "One minute," he said.

Hannah gave him a worried look. "Maybe you should stay here for now. Go to sleep."

"I'm always sleeping," Josh said. _That's because you're dying_ , his brain added—unhelpful as always—and his ass was effectively kicked into gear.

They kept moving, faster now that Josh wasn't dragging a body, but slower than Josh wanted to be—slower than he had been. His legs felt thin and frail, like he was tottering around on toothpicks, and his head was so heavy. Keeping it up was almost as hard as putting one foot in front of the other.

Josh stopped for water whenever he found it, desperate to fill up his stomach as much as he could. It worked, for a few minutes, and then he was back to feeling like his insides were twisting. He tried to keep their path as straight as possible, and he thought he was doing okay—but then again, he'd been down here for a long time now, and he'd yet to find anything. Maybe "okay" should have left his vocabulary.

His head was starting to feel fuzzy when Chris nudged him in the ribs. "Hey," he said. "I'm sorry about…that whole thing the other night. I didn't mean to be so intense."

"It's okay," Josh said, even though nothing was, and that certainly wasn't. "I get where you're coming from."

Chris' eyes twinkled, glimmering against the darkness, and he took Josh's hand. "Good. Are we ready to call it a night then?"

Josh shook his head. Chris' brow furrowed, and Josh eyed him suspiciously. "What, you think I'm going to do whatever you say, now that you've apologized?"

"No," Chris said, too fast.

"Kinda seems like that's what you think."

"It's not," Chris insisted, but he dropped Josh's hand. "You're a stubborn one."

"You're just figuring that out?" Josh teased. He waggled his eyebrows, and Chris turned his head away.

"Guess so."

Josh should have called it a night—he knew that—but he wasn't ready to stop yet. He pushed himself harder, feeling like there had to be something around every corner, his chest swelling and sinking every time he worked himself up to be let down. Finally, Hannah gripped his shoulder, holding him back.

"We should stop now," she said.

"A bit more," Josh protested. Chris' hand came to rest on his other shoulder.

"Hannah's right," he said. "Now's a good time."

"No," Josh muttered. He was just being stubborn now, defying for the sake of defiance, but he pulled out of their grasps anyway. He followed the path as it curved, and something caught his eye.

It was the faintest of outlines, and for a second Josh thought it was just another piece of wood or old metal. He stepped closer, cocking his head curiously, and Chris appeared in front of him, making him jump.

"Stop," he said. He placed a hand on Josh's chest.

"What is that?" Josh asked.

"More miners' shit," Chris said. "Come on."

"It looks…" Josh stepped around Chris, and he was close enough now that he could see what it was: a horizontal beam, running from one part of the rock to another. It was the entrance to a small room, Josh realized, and when he squinted inside, he could see another pole, running vertically from the floor to the ceiling.

He reached for it, his hand shaking. His fingers brushed against the metal, and Josh knew right away. It was cool and sleek and—most importantly—new. Everything else he'd found had been crumbling and decayed, untouched for decades. This was practically gleaming.

He whirled around and came back out. When he looked to the side, he spotted a dark shadow. It was a pile of rocks, too big and too precise to be natural. Someone had been here when this happened. Someone had been looking for him.

"Oh my god," Josh said, his voice wavering. He couldn't believe he was nearly crying over some metal poles and a pile of rocks, but here he was. He stepped back to admire the view and sunk into something thick and sticky. He hopped, trying to get out of it, and got his other foot stuck instead. He finally managed to extract himself, and then he got down on his knees.

It was blood. Josh knew it by smell, not sight—it was strangely sweet, almost fruity, but there was the faintest hint of copper. He recoiled immediately. "Shit," he snapped. For some reason he hadn't considered this, hadn't thought about the fact that someone might have gotten hurt. It made him feel guilty about the way his heart was pounding, his mind swimming with countless visions of making it out—of staying alive. He opened his mouth, and all that came out was a choked sound, somewhere between a cry and a laugh.

"I did it," he said. "I fucking did it." He leapt to his feet, nearly falling over, and looked at Chris and Hannah triumphantly. "I was right."

"You were right," Chris confirmed. Josh didn't know why they weren't bouncing up and down at the news, but he was too busy thinking this through, mapping his escape plan.

"Okay," he said. "If we came from that way, and we didn't see shit, then they must've come this way." Josh pointed ahead of them. "Right? So this way—" He gestured even more enthusiastically. "—is the way out."

Chris shrugged. "Presumably."

"Presumably?" Josh balked. "More like abso-fucking-lutely." He ran a hand through his hair and looked down the path ahead, as though the mines would open up before his eyes. They didn't, naturally, but it didn't damper Josh's excitement. "We're going. Now."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Hannah said. "What about me?"

Josh blinked, confused. "What about you?"

"Uh, me as in the body you promised not to leave behind?"

"Oh," Josh said. "Right. Well, as soon as I make it out, I can tell them where it is. They can come get you."

"But the monster could take it by then," Hannah said. Her voice trembled, and she paused to compose herself. "Listen. Josh. People have been looking for you—for us—for two weeks now. It took them this long to get this far. You don't really think you're going to make it out tonight, do you?"

"I—" Josh faltered. That had been what he was thinking, actually, but she had a point.

"Plus…" Chris started. He looked at Hannah, who gave him a small nod, and then he continued. "You're not exactly in the best state right now, dude. You said it yourself. Even if it only takes a few more days to find your way to the surface…you need food."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," Josh said. "I hadn't realized that."

"Josh," Hannah said. "You _have_ food."

A tense silence fell; Josh understood them immediately, and he couldn't believe they were having this conversation. "No," he said. " _No_. God. Hannah, what the fuck?"

"We know you've thought about it," Chris said.

Josh fixed him with a hard stare. He had thought about it, in those brief moments when Hannah's body was right there, and he was so hungry. He'd thought about it earlier tonight, for God's sake. But he couldn't say that out loud. "You don't know shit," he said instead.

"I wouldn't be mad," Hannah said softly. "I'm giving you permission."

"Let me get this straight," Josh said. "You're don't want me to leave you down here—even for a little while—but you're fine with me _eating_ you?"

"It's not like—it's not like you'd eat my entire body," Hannah explained. "You could only take what you need."

Josh laughed dryly. "Just a hand, no big deal," he mocked. Hannah scowled at him, and Josh scoffed. "I'm sorry, but are you listening to yourself right now? This is fucking crazy. How does this make any sense?"

"Because if you do this, then at least I'm _useful_!" she shouted, loud enough to shock Josh into silence. "If you do this, and it helps, then at least I'm not this liability that I know you think I am."

"I don't—"

"Don't lie to me, Josh. We both know you would've had a better chance if you weren't hauling me around. I know you want to, and _I_ want you to, but that was a sacrifice. Let this be mine."

Hannah's eyes were brimming, and Josh couldn't meet them. He watched her wipe a tear, cursing under her breath. He hated seeing her like this; it made his chest ache, made him want to do whatever he could to make her happy.

"We can go get you," he said. "Right now, I'll bring you back here. But can I…think about the other thing?"

Hannah eyed him through wet eyelashes, her lips pursed. "Okay," she said eventually.

"Okay," Josh agreed. He linked his arm through hers and nodded at Chris. "Let's go."

* * *

This was a bad idea. Josh didn't know how long he'd been awake and walking, but he knew it was too long. His arm was giving out now, and he bent over, breathing heavily.

"Josh…" Hannah started.

Josh shook his head. "I said I'd do this for you. I'm doing it. I just need a new strategy." He lowered the body into a seated position and moved around to face it, slowly and painstakingly lifting it over his shoulder. It was hell on his shoulder, of course, but it took some pain out of his arm—and he could walk faster, granted he didn't pass out.

They weren't far from the cave-in when Josh heard something—one scrape, and then another. A small clattering of rocks. In any other setting it could have been nothing, a natural sound, but Josh was starting to learn there were no natural sounds in these mines. He froze, his breath hitching.

"What was that?" he whispered.

"Nothing good," Chris said. His voice came from behind Josh's ear, and Hannah gripped the back of his sweater. They stood, unmoving even though it only mattered for Josh, and there was a long silence before they heard anything else. When they did, there was no longer any doubt.

It was here, and it was close.

Josh couldn't see it, but he could hear it moving: leaping from wall to wall, nails scraping the rock. He could hear its keens and chirps, and he couldn't do a goddamn thing besides stand there, about to collapse under the weight of his dead sister. His shoulder was screaming by the time it was close enough for Josh to see, its long, thin outline glowing faintly against the darkness. It turned its head, and Josh glimpsed blood on its face and claws, flecks of meat stuck between its sharp teeth.

Josh wondered if that meant it wasn't hungry anymore, but then his shoulder gave out, and he found out the answer was no.

Hannah slumped out of his grasp, and the monster was on her in a second, pinning her body to the ground. She had slipped right in front of him, and Josh had no choice but to stand there and watch as it dug its hand into her chest. It broke through her skin and bones like that was nothing, rooting around until it found what it was looking for. It pulled out her heart and gave it an experimental squeeze before popping it into its mouth. The monster swallowed it like a candy. It made a sharp noise, almost like a cough, and Josh wanted to shout, _Two weeks past its expiration date, asshat!_ But he kept quiet, and he kept still, and the monster decided it didn't mind expired food. It lifted Hannah over its shoulder—much more easily than Josh had done—and scurried off the way it came.

Josh waited. He could hear Hannah—the Hannah in his head—crying behind him. Loud, hiccuping sobs that rang in his ears. Chris comforted her, soothing words that Josh couldn't make out.

"It's fine now," Chris said, after what felt like forever. "You can move."

Josh turned around. Chris had wrapped a comforting arm around Hannah's shoulders, and tears were streaming down her cheeks. She looked at him with reddening eyes. "It's all my fault," she sniffed. "If you hadn't come back—"

"Don't say that," Josh said. "Look how close we are. Fucker probably would've found me anyway."

"What do we do now?" Hannah asked, looking between Chris and Josh with a pleading expression.

Josh didn't know what to do. Hannah had lit a fire under him, and he was determined to get her back, even if it was stupid and pointless—but when he turned around, there was no blood trail, no tracks. No way of knowing where it had gone.

"We follow it," Chris said, like that was the simplest thing in the world. "Every monster has a lair, right?"

"How do we find it?" Josh asked.

"You said you trust me," Chris said. It wasn't a question—Josh had answered that before—but he nodded anyway. "Will you follow me?" Chris asked.

Josh hesitated. He didn't know how that would help, and he felt like he was digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole. But then he looked at Hannah, and his chest bubbled up with something that left no room for doubt. He had made a promise, and he damn well intended to keep it. He met Chris' gaze, unwavering.

"Yes."


	8. Chapter 8

Josh had no idea where he was. It was hard to know, most of the time, but something in his gut told him he'd never been this way before. They were past the cave-in, fast-walking in the direction Josh had so badly wanted to go. He kept swiveling his head, trying to get a grip on their location, but they moved swiftly. It took all of his energy to keep up—to ignore the hunger that had only gotten worse since he woke up.

Chris and Hannah buzzed around him like flies, filled with a vibrant determination that Josh felt pressing against him. Hannah's fingers poked at his back to urge him along. Chris gripped Josh's arm. It was the injured one—the one that was healing all wrong—and it flared with pain as Chris tugged harder.

"That hurts, bro," Josh moaned. Chris looked at Josh over his shoulder, and his eyes were unexpectedly warm and friendly. It was disarming.

"Sorry," Chris said, though his hold didn't loosen. "We're almost there, Josh. You're doing so well."

"Just a bit longer, and this will be over," Hannah added. Her hand trailed down his back, and Josh shivered involuntarily. He tried to take comfort in her words, and he imagined himself making it out of here—the sunlight hurting his eyes, the crisp clean air filling his lungs. He didn't want to know what he'd look like in the light of day, but he wanted to see his family again. Beth would cry, even though Beth never cried, and his mom would cry because she always did. Josh didn't know what his dad would do, but Josh wanted to hug him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd hugged his dad—couldn't even remember the last time one of them had done an awkward shoulder punch. After all he'd been through, Josh was ready to fold up in his dad's arms like a little kid.

 _Shit._ He was spiraling now, his consolation attempt warping into a lump in his throat. He looked at Chris next to him, and he couldn't help but think about the real Chris. They would both lose it, if Josh saw him again, and Josh would apologize to no end. For having so many problems. For putting Chris through so much. He owed his family the biggest apology of all for not saving Hannah. They'd never say anything about it—probably wouldn't even think about it, at least not consciously—but Josh would know it was there. That small wish that he and Hannah's roles had been reversed. Josh wished it too, sometimes. Death might have been preferable to this.

Now wasn't one of those times. Now Josh was going to _survive_ , God damn it. He was going to live. He'd spent most of his life waiting for it to end, too lazy (or scared) to do it himself. He wasn't committed enough for knives or pills, but he totally wouldn't have complained if he got hit by a bus one day. Something tragic and out of his control. All of the benefits, none of the blame. He'd wanted that for a long time, but now that he was staring it in the face, Josh said fuck it. Fuck these mines, fuck that monster, and fuck death.

Another squeeze of his arm—and another flare of pain—jerked Josh back to his senses. He blinked and looked around, realizing (with more than just his gut) that he was definitely in unfamiliar territory. The ceiling was lower, and the air hung dry and heavy. Josh inhaled deeply, the unexpected claustrophobia stealing his breath. On the exhale he asked, "How do you know where we're going?"

Chris didn't answer right away. Josh looked at the ground, even though he knew there was nothing there—no blood or tracks or hints. The sight of it unsettled him. Chris moved with such determination and purpose. This could be Josh's mind bullshitting, putting on a confident front as his mind was wont to do. But if they were right…if they found Hannah…

"We've never been down here before," Josh continued. "There's no trail, no sound. Nothing."

"Instinct," Hannah said. "It's stronger than most people think. We're just helping you follow it."

Chris nodded tersely and gestured to the walls with his free hand. "Look—everything's getting smaller. If you were looking for a hideaway, wouldn't this be a good place?"

"So this is just a guess?" Josh said, taken aback. Was he running himself ragged for a _guess_?

Chris shrugged. He'd yet to meet Josh's eyes. "Something like that."

They passed an opening in the rock, and Josh's eye caught something. He turned his head instinctively, and beyond the opening he glimpsed a dim light in the distance. They had to be deep in the mines by now. As stupidly hopeful as he was by this point, Josh knew that it probably wasn't an exit. Which meant it had to be something else. Something manmade.

It was out of his sight seconds later, and Chris and Hannah either didn't notice or didn't care. Josh made an effort to slow them down, and when he couldn't—realizing with a small jolt of fear that he wasn't strong enough—he spoke up. "Guys," he said. "I just saw a light."

"There's no light down here," Chris said. "We're too far down."

"Not that kind of light," Josh insisted. "Something…glowing. I don't know. Do you think someone put it there? When they were looking?" His heartbeat sped up, because it was so logical. How else would a search & rescue team find their way in and out of here without getting hopelessly lost? They needed markers, right?

"I think you might have imagined it," Hannah said. "I didn't see anything. Did you, Chris?"

Chris shook his head. "Nope."

"I didn't imagine shit," Josh snapped. "It was there."

Hannah sighed, more impatient than angry. "Then we can check it out after, okay?" she said.

Once again her words didn't reassure him. Even though Josh had dug this grave of his own free will, he sneered, "You promise?"

No one said anything after that; Josh only felt a little guilty.

They never found another light. Chris' path brought them deeper into the mines, and Josh's stomach growled as they descended. He pressed his fist against it and dug his knuckles until it hurt, but not even pain could mask this hollow feeling. It was deeper and stronger than he'd ever felt it, and a small whine escaped Josh's lips. He couldn't do this anymore. They needed to go back. He opened his mouth to suggest it when a vile smell hit him. Gagging, Josh buried his face in his sleeve and finally— _finally_ —stopped.

He'd expected the familiar smell of Hannah's body, but this was something else—something fresh. The scent permeated the air around them. "What the fuck is that?" Josh asked, fearing he knew the answer.

All Chris said was, "We're here."

Hannah nudged him forward, and Josh—still covering his face—reluctantly followed Chris. Their narrow hallway opened up into a cavern, bigger than Josh expected, but it wasn't the size of it that made him gasp.

There were bones everywhere. Legs and ribs and skulls, some of them with long, curved antlers protruding from the top. They lay in neat little piles, picked absolutely clean, and in the middle of the room Josh found the source of the smell. A heap of flesh—no, he moved closer. A torso, skinned to reveal the muscle underneath. The rest of it sat nearby. Arms, legs, and— _oh, fuck_ —a head. Soft, plump flesh still clung to the bone, and its mouth was twisted and lipless. Josh spotted another small heap of smooth, tan strips. Skin.

He moved away, mouth still open, and the back of his foot bumped against something. It was a liver, quivering slightly from where he'd tapped it. Surrounding it were others—the stomach, one of the intestines. The heart was gone. Josh couldn't stop himself from thinking, _So the fucker has preferences._

He couldn't stop himself from leaning down either. He lifted an intestine and let it trail between his hands, feeling it slip along his skin like a snake. It was curiosity, sure, but it was something else too. Hunger had been scraping at his insides since he fell into this hellhole, and now it had clawed its way to his brain. _I can just pretend they're sausage links. Like the ones in the old cartoons._ Josh didn't even like sausages, but those had always looked so good—and this didn't look half bad either.

He forced the thought from his head and let the intestine slide back the ground. It left a wet trail across his palms. He stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans and surveying the display before him. He'd been right before—this was definitely recent. The cold might have gone a long way toward keeping Hannah intact, but there was no way her insides would look like this. He remembered the pool of blood he'd stepped in earlier that night. It couldn't have been too old either, and Josh realized that this person hadn't died under a pile of rocks. He thought about praying for them, but he didn't know any prayers. Didn't believe in them, anyway. Instead, he nudged the liver again and said, "Sorry."

 _Sorry for getting you killed, and sorry I totally thought about eating you._

Chris and Hannah had been conspicuously silent; Josh turned to find them still in the entrance. They watched him intently, and Josh wondered if they expected this. If they knew about this. That made no sense, but then again, what about this situation did?

"This is…" Josh started. He'd planned to say "disgusting," but then another word came to mind—one that was somehow worse. "Methodical."

Chris and Hannah approached him, their gazes finally shifting to the bones and gore surrounding them. Chris' shoulder brushed his.

"It's not what we're here for," he said. "And we don't have much time. It's almost morning."

"How do you know that?" Josh asked again. He and Chris locked eyes, and Josh didn't know what to make of Chris' expression. It was unreadable. Not warm or cold. Just…blank. Chris was many things, but he'd always been an open book, ever since they were kids. Now there was a wall. Josh wanted to break it down, but he was scared of what he would find on the other side.

"We've been up for hours," Chris reasoned. "It's just a guess."

"You've been pretty good at guessing lately," Josh said. His unspoken questions hung in the air, heavier than they had ever been, but Chris didn't take the bait. He never took the bait. He shrugged and tilted his head.

"The body's over there," he said. Josh's eyes followed his direction, and in the darkness Josh saw the outline of the body, sprawled carelessly on the ground. Josh didn't remember Hannah moving, but she was somehow next to it already, kneeling down. She looked at Josh the second he noticed her, and she beckoned for him. When Josh didn't immediately move, Chris' hand pressed flat against his back. Josh startled. He'd wanted their touches so badly in the beginning, and part of him still did. But something else felt wrong. All they'd done was push him down this path he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to go down. Now he was here, feeling very much like this was the end.

"Go," Chris whispered, and Josh did. He sat down next to Hannah—both of them—and the relief in his legs made him whine in the back of his throat, small and involuntary. A blink turned into gently closing eyes, and Josh scrubbed at his face with the heels of his hands.

"I'm so fucking tired," he said softly. _And so fucking hungry._ Hannah's body was rotting, old enough that some animals would probably turn their nose. Instead it made his hunger rev like an engine. This time, he didn't try to tamp it down.

"Have you thought about what I said?" Hannah asked, low and gentle.

 _Yes._

"I've thought about surviving," Josh said instead. "Going home. Seeing our family." He met her gaze, and his voice shook when he added, "I don't want to die."

"You won't," Hannah said insistently. "You'll live." They looked at the body at the same time, and Josh watched her trace her finger down the skin of its arm. "This is the best way."

Maybe she was right. Josh tried to imagine himself carrying the body out of this place—up that path until they were safety out of the monster's clutches—and he couldn't do it. Not with this emptiness inside him, pleading for food. He needed to make it stop.

"Just a little bit," Hannah continued. "To keep yourself going."

"And when the coroner asks who took a bite out of you?" Josh asked. He tried to laugh, but it was a weak, shaking noise.

"I helped you. That's what matters."

This time Josh did laugh, because he couldn't believe he was here, talking about eating his sister's ravaged corpse in a cavern full of bones and flesh. The laugh turned into a sob somewhere in the middle, and in that moment Josh didn't care if Hannah was real or imaginary or something else altogether. He wrapped his good arm around her shoulders and gripped her tightly. She smelled like lavender. "I'm so sorry," he said.

Hannah was still before hugging him back. Josh felt her hands on him, and he tried to push his suspicions aside and just _mean it_. "I've already forgiven you," she said.

"Well, that makes one of us," Josh said. They stayed like this for a moment, and then Josh pulled away. He reached for the body, lifting it into a seated position. It was hard; Josh's hand nearly slipped into her open, ravaged chest, but he managed to do it. Chris—who had been hanging back during Josh and Hannah's conversation—came forward, sitting on Josh's other side.

Josh looked at the skin just below Hannah's short sleeve and tried to imagine what it would feel like to bite into—what it would taste like. The thought made him squirm, but the idea of having something—anything—in his stomach was so appealing. It was all he could think about.

Josh glanced over his shoulder at the body parts behind him, and Hannah knew exactly what he was thinking.

"You can have those, if you want," she said, shrugging. "I'm sure they'd be better. I won't be offended or anything."

They _would_ be better, and Josh _did_ want those. But Josh didn't deserve what he wanted. This was his crime and punishment, rolled into one.

"No," he said firmly. "It's fine."

Chris ruffled Josh's hair, turning Josh's attention to him. "You're making the right decision," Chris said. "You'll feel so much better. And if you really don't like it, you can just spit it out." He said this last part like it was joke that Josh didn't understand, and his lips curled into a smile. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Josh's forehead. Josh took a deep breath; Chris squeezed his shoulder reassuringly when he hesitated. "You have to do it, dude," Chris said. "There's no other option."

Josh looked at Hannah one last time. A small part of him hoped she would panic (as Hannah so often did) and tell him this was a bad idea—or better yet, inform him that this was all a joke, payback for the many times Josh had taken advantage of her gullible nature when she was alive.

She smiled and nodded. That was all it took.

Josh raised the arm to his open mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit down hard. He expected to meet resistance, but his teeth sank through her skin with surprising ease, and there was a piece of rotting flesh on his tongue before Josh really knew what to do with it. It was cold enough to send a chill down his spine, and when his closed his mouth around it, everything fell apart. It mushed into the roof of his mouth and oozed between his teeth. Josh felt his gag reflex kick in again, and he sputtered through the mouthful of flesh, letting out wet, hacking coughs. He breathed through his nose to steady himself and was immediately hit with the smell, closer and more intense than he'd experienced it before. It was heady and sickly-sweet, like something left out in the heat for _way_ too long. He covered his mouth with his hand. Clamping his teeth together, he forced himself to swallow everything down.

It slid down his throat with surprisingly little protest from his body, and Josh was left sitting there, panting. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and it came away covered in flecks of Hannah's skin and blood. He stared at the hole he'd left in his sister's flesh—pieces of her caught between his teeth—and somehow, his first coherent thought was _more_.

More?

Josh took another bite, and this time it was distinctly _not bad_. He kept it longer in his mouth, swirling his tongue around and savoring the different parts. Her blood was thick like a watery metal, and the muscle was chewy but not tough, not after all this time. Far from a delicacy, but…pretty good, actually.

He had to tell Hannah and Chris. He had to let them know that it was okay—he was going to be okay—but it required enormous concentration to take his eyes off Hannah's skin. To keep from taking what he wanted. When he managed to drop the arm, Chris and Hannah were no longer next to him. He licked his lips.

"Guys?" he called.

No response.

Reminding himself that this was fine—this was _fine_ , he could have more in a second—he got to his feet and surveyed the cavern. It was empty besides the bodies, and Josh peeked into the hall, hoping they would be out there. Only darkness remained, stretching endlessly beyond his range of vision, and Josh had never felt so alone in his life.

Or so _hungry_.

He stood there wringing his hands. His mind whirred frantically, torn between continuing his meal and looking for Chris and Hannah. The silence of the mines pressed down on him. Even though his stomach was begging for more, he didn't want to be alone.

No sooner had the thought occurred to him than he heard a voice. It sounded like Chris or Hannah, or maybe Chris _and_ Hannah, and it was coming from inside him. It vibrated through Josh's core, equal parts frightening and comforting. _You're not alone_ , the voice said.

And then it said, _Eat._

So he did.

* * *

Josh ate almost everything. His stomach felt bottomless, clenching violently every time there wasn't something falling into it. Hannah had been enough for a moment, and then she wasn't. He abandoned her half-eaten arm for the five-star meal in the middle of the cavern.

The intestines were the first to go.

It was different than Hannah, and—Josh had to admit—so much better. Hannah was baby food, grey mush with red swirls, and this was _candy_. Pieces popped in his mouth like Gushers. Liquid squirted between his lips and rolled down his chin. It was hard on his teeth and his jaw ached, but the pain was nothing compared to the taste. He saved the head for last, sucking the flesh off the bone with loud, uninhibited slurping. When it was nothing but a skull, Josh tossed it aside and wandered back to Hannah, grabbing her arm and picking up where'd left off earlier.

The monster came back. Josh had no clue how much time had passed, but he had gnawed down to Hannah's wrist when it slithered in, smooth and soundless. Josh was too preoccupied to remember not to move, and the monster's milky eyes zeroed in on him. He knew he should be afraid, but he wasn't. This new thing inside him pushed the fear away, stripping it like skin.

 _Skin._

The monster paused, blinking. It crawled closer, unusually slow. When it had closed the distance between them, it ran a clawed hand over Hannah's body. It paused at the wounds it had made on her chest, chirping like it was proud. Its hand wandered further until it landed on the stump of Hannah's arm.

Josh had torn it off. He didn't mean to. He'd only wanted a better angle, and when he tugged on her arm to pull the body closer, it came right off. It must've been the decomposition softening her up. Josh wasn't that strong; at least, he didn't _think_ he was.

Now the arm lay in his hands, and Josh sat there like a kid caught red-handed. He bit down on his lip as the monster's hand sought the missing limb.

It found the arm almost immediately, and then it found Josh. Its fingers trailed over Josh's, and Josh almost pulled away. He'd never touched the monster before. He'd expected its skin to be smooth—a thin and breakable covering stretched over endlessly long bones. The skin was tough and hard instead. Josh felt confident that no gun or knife—certainly not a pointy fucking rock—could puncture it.

The monster made a noise like it had realized something, and in a flash it was in the middle of the room. Its hands scrabbled at the ground. Josh knew what it wanted, and he held his breath as the monster found the evidence of his meal. Its nails clicked along a broken rib cage before trailing further. Its fingers hooked into empty eye sockets, and the monster cradled the skull in its palm. In a blur of motion that Josh couldn't see, the monster threw it. Bone exploded off the wall mere inches from his head, and a second later the monster gripped his face between its claws. Its hands were big enough that it could cup Josh's chin and still brush his hairline with its nails. It leaned in close, making loud, angry noises.

The monster tilted Josh's head back, pushing it into the wall until he whined in pain. He could feel its breath on his face and hear it rattling deep within its chest. Wide eyes flickered around Josh's face, and then—just as abruptly as it had grabbed him—the monster let go. Josh's head fell forward. His breath came in ragged gasps, and the monster gazed at him silently. When Josh recovered, it made a decisive noise and reached for Hannah's body, pulling off her other arm with ease. It took Hannah's arm to the middle of the cavern and placed it with the rest of its collection before curling in a tight ball. Facing Josh, it rested its head on folded arms.

Josh didn't move. They stared at each other. He watched as its eyes started to close, and Josh forced himself to count to three before giving in to the impulse that pounded in his head like a drumbeat. _Eat, eat, eat_.

He ate until he was finished, and then he passed out.

* * *

He woke up to a gift. A deer, bloody and still breathing, stretched out on the ground in front of him. Josh's stomach—silent for about five seconds—awakened with even stronger demands.

The monster sat behind the deer, perched on its knees. Its eyes flickered between the deer and Josh. When he didn't dive forward and tear the deer apart (which he really, _really_ wanted to do), the monster nudged it in Josh's direction.

Josh was torn again. He felt well enough that he could easily make it out of here. Hannah's body was a new kind of liability, but Josh could tell the police he'd had to abandon it and didn't remember where it was. Chances were they'd never find it, and no one would be the wiser. All Josh needed to do was get up and go.

The smell of the deer wafted toward him. _No._ All he needed to do was eat. He could leave later.

The deer's breathing reached him next. It heaved rough, heavy gasps, and the sound made Josh uncomfortable. He reached forward with both arms—

 _Both arms._ Josh paused and flexed his left arm experimentally. It straightened without protest, and he felt only the slightest twinge—the embers of something that had once burned bright and hot, but was now gone. How the fuck had that happened?

The monster clicked loudly, swatting Josh's arm down like it had lost its patience. Josh made a startled noise, but his protest died in his throat when he saw it reach for the deer. It settled its claws just above the hooves, where the fur started. Slowly, it pulled back a strip of short brown hairs, revealing bright red muscle underneath. There was barely any meat there, but Josh's mouth watered at the sight.

The deer was still alive, though, and Josh had to fix this. His voice came out deep and gravelly when he said, "Kill it."

The monster paused only for a second before continuing its steady path up the deer's leg, unfazed by Josh's command. He wanted to say it again, but the deer looked so good. So fucking good.

Josh's stomach twisted painfully, and he glanced down with a whine, expecting to find short, useless nails. Instead, his hands were bleeding. Four deep, half-moon imprints were etched into each palm, and when he uncurled his fingers, his wish was granted. His nails were long and curved—nothing like the monster's, but it was a start. It would do.

He reached for another of the deer's legs and mimicked the monster's actions, starting above the hoof and tugging off a strip of thick skin. He tried to bring it all the way up, make it nice and clean, but his nails weren't quite long enough. He had to work in smaller chunks, but they got the job done, working together in almost companionable silence. Spittle hung from the corners of his mouth, dripping into the deer's fur. Once Josh snapped completely, digging his teeth into its side, but the monster pulled him back roughly by the neck. It hissed at him. _This is how you do it._

The deer wasn't breathing by the time they finished, though Josh couldn't remember when it had stopped. He must not have noticed. Brushing the thought aside, he hovered over the lump of flesh. Dried pieces of Hannah's body clung to his lips and coated his cheeks. He didn't bother wiping it. Instead, he looked up at the monster, waiting for permission. Josh hardly had the willpower, but after all the food he'd stolen, it was the least he could do.

The monster made a short, clipped noise. Josh took it as a yes. He plunged his face into the still-warm meat, and it was the most satisfying feeling he'd ever experienced. He wanted nothing but more.

 _Have more_ , the voice said.

Josh didn't need to be told twice. He gnashed and bit until a thick layer of blood covered his face. He didn't know why he was doing this, or what would happen to him if he _kept_ doing it. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wanted to. Hannah wanted him to.

This was the best way.


End file.
